Break
by antepathy
Summary: After "Dead End." Two Autobots interrogated by Barricade, who abides, strangely enough, by US Army Field Manual tactics. What does it take to break the Autobots? What else will break?
1. Chapter 1

I.

One day, Blackout thought, Starscream will learn to keep his big mouth shut. That day would probably be right about when the universe settled to cold death at Absolute Zero. Which made a fitting nickname for Starscream, now that he thought of it. It was so easy: Go in to Megatron, grovel, get yelled at, get out. Protoforms could do it. Not that Blackout thought that tantrums were part of the formula for a good leader. Sometimes Blackout thought Megatron confused yelling at his subordinates with doing his job. Well, he was really good at it, the kind of good that came either from native talent or long practice. And having such a reactive, if not appreciative, audience as Starscream was surely encouraging.

So, while Blackout stood in precisely the same spot as he'd given his report, cycling his engine in irritation, Megatron currently had Starscream sprawled on the floor, looming over him with an upraised fist. Blackout almost felt sorry for Starscream—never able to keep from speaking out, even for his own good. Even when you told him you'd handle it.

"You do not use that tone of voice to me!" Megatron yelled, so close to Starscream's audio receptors that Blackout could hear the screech of feedback from where he stood. "Ever! Do you hear me?"

Starscream's arm wavered, torn between trying to protect his audio receptor and deflecting the inevitable punch. Blackout rocked back on his feet, frustrated and impatient. Yes, Starscream was annoying, but this was…wasteful. Surely Megatron had better things to do with his time than terrorize an already-cowed subordinate. Blackout certainly had better things to do than watch. He cleared his vocal processor loudly. "My lord?"

"What!" Megatron roared, turning over his raised fist to look at Blackout. His eyes glowed a particularly malevolent red.

"If we could finish our report." Blackout stiffened, feeling Megatron's focus shift to him like a target-sight. Why was he interjecting himself into this? Starscream had more practice as the punching bag. And, considering how often and how well he brought it on himself, he probably liked it.

"What more do I need to know? I gave an order, and it was not carried out." Megatron radiated rage like a kind of heat. Blackout dug his toes into the floor, as if trying to push his sudden anxiety into the metal plating.

"Two of the enemy were disabled, perhaps permanently."

"Perhaps," Megatron sneered. "I have over-heard this 'perhaps' since my return."

"We have also," Blackout foundered on, "returned with two captives."

"Captives." He said the word as if it carried parasites. "What am I to do with captives?"

"They have, they might have, that is," Starscream teetered on the edge of a stutter, "intelligence that could be useful."

"Might have. Could be." Megatron threw his hands up. "Is there no certainty in the world anymore?" Starscream took advantage of Megatron's distraction to draw his limbs underneath him furtively, his eyes never leaving his leader's face.

"They have value," Blackout asserted, sounding more confident than he felt. Perhaps Megatron's great leadership secret was the ability to make everyone else feel stupid when talking to him.

"Everything has some value," Megatron growled. "Even my second-in-command." He watched Starscream freeze mid-move, with satisfaction, before adding, "But you know how they are about noble sacrifice. Besides, we have more pressing matters." He nodded at someone who had entered the command room behind Blackout. Blackout twitched. Primus: Starscream's paranoia was growing on him. He'd almost expected someone to hit him from the back. Instead he turned and saw Vortex, looking more exhausted than Blackout remembered seeing him. Vortex's olive drab paint bore the starburst scars of anti-aircraft hits, and his dual rotors drooped from his shoulders like wet wings.

Blackout nodded in greeting. Vortex returned the greeting with a flash of his visor.

"Your report, Vortex," Megatron said, briskly, not deigning to notice Vortex's bedraggled appearance.

"If we are finished, my lord," Blackout began, turning to leave. Seeing Vortex made him realize he probably looked no better—spattered with coolant, one rotor snapped in half, dents in the plates of his armor. And suddenly he felt exhausted. As if he'd taken on Prime himself one on one. Which he had. He deserved a nice long visit to repair bay. And to ventilate some air that didn't crackle with malice and contempt.

"I am not through with you yet," Megatron said. "You shall wait upon my attention. Now, Vortex, what is your report?"

Blackout saw Vortex take in the scene—Starscream still half crouched on the floor, Blackout looking, well, bad, and Megatron's rage hanging in the room like a bad smell.

"We faced considerable resistance," Vortex said. Even his voice sounded tired. "Which we overcame, but we found no trace of viable energon at the impact site."

"None." Megatron's voice was dangerously quiet. Starscream shrunk back.

"None viable, my lord. Readings were very low grade, and too contaminated in the local soil. The process to extract and concentrate it to a usable source would be prohibitively complex."

"Another wasted notion, then."

"Not necessarily. We did find trace energon, extra terrestrial in origin. Which you had predicted. That means that the concept is valid: meteoric impacts of energon rich sources on this planet."

"My report," Starscream breathed, just barely audible. "You took my report seriously." He sounded surprised. SHUT UP, Blackout shouted in his mind at the jet. Would he never learn to keep his thoughts to himself?

"I cannot afford," Megatron snarled, "to ignore anything. Even the jabberings of idiots." He gestured at Vortex, "But you see how valuable your information was. As usual."

Vortex hesitated. "My lord, the theory is valid. Your report stated a possibility of two viable meteoric sources. There are hundreds of impacts on Earth. We merely found one of the ones that is not worth our while. Or the Autobots' while."

"Futile search," Megatron said. "Are we to investigate every one of hundreds of impacts in hopes that we'll stumble across the right one?" He rounded on Starscream. "Even your intelligence work is slipshod, Air Commander." He made the title sound like a profanity. "I suspect there is nothing you can perform with competence."

Starscream's eyes flickered downward, staring resolutely at the floor. Trying to look unmoved. Didn't fool Blackout. Not a chance that it fooled Megatron.

"The captives might know," Blackout heard himself say. I should take my own advice and shut up, he thought, as Megatron's eyes fixed on him again. "Where the good sites are, that is," he added, clumsily. Maybe Starscream's cowardice was contagious. Blackout wanted nothing more than to get out of that room as soon as possible.

"They _might_," Megatron jeered, echoing his earlier sarcasm. But then, "They might indeed. Starscream, bring Barricade to me."

Starscream scrambled to his feet, protesting. Proving, Blackout thought, there was a real overclocking issue inside the jet's central processor. "I am no message-boy," he sputtered.

"Yes, you are," Blackout said, seizing Starscream by the arm in a grip strong enough to grind cables against each other, "Let's go." Let this count as my good karma for the cycle, he thought, dragging Starscream behind him as he exited. Though only the humans who thought of such a thing would know what good it would do me.


	2. Chapter 2

II.

Blackout hadn't had to try very hard to convince Starscream to hang around outside the room while Barricade spoke to Megatron. By that point, Starscream had recovered some of his equilibrium; enough, at any rate, to have switched on his scheming subroutines.

"Admit it," Starscream said, but quietly so he wouldn't be overheard, "I was a better leader than Megatron."

"You think I'm gonna answer that here? Where anyone could be listening? Dumber than you look, Starscream."

The jet smirked. "That answer is sufficient."

Blackout was formulating a snide reply when the door slid open. Barricade stepped through. He moved heavily, always, as if walking like he weighed a few extra tons would make him more imposing. Didn't change the fact that Barricade barely reached Blackout's thoracic girdle. Barricade's eyes flicked up to the pair of larger bots, framing the corridor. Blackout elbowed himself up off the wall.

Barricade kept walking. "Has the ship suddenly gotten more dangerous, or have I come down with a fatal case of popularity?" he said, not looking back as the other two fell into step behind him.

Starscream opened his mouth, but Blackout cut him off. "Thought you might like a little background about the capture."

"How very generous of you." Where Megatron or Starscream would have said it with poisonous sarcasm, Barricade's delivery was bland. As if it wasn't worth the extra effort. "It was at our forward base." As if that were all he needed to know.

"What does Megatron want you to do?" Starscream blurted. Blackout thought seriously about punching him in the vernier.

Barricade stopped. "What do you think he wants me to do?"

"What if they don't know anything?"

Barricade turned to face Starscream, trying not to look ridiculous as he tried to stare down someone almost twice his height. "Is that what you're afraid of?"

Starscream's head jerked back, as if Barricade had struck him.

Blackout stepped between them. "What he's saying is, what if they don't have the specific information you're looking for?"

"The meteor impact sites? They'll still be useful."

"Drain on resources," Starscream retorted, still angry at Barricade's confrontational question. Blackout remembered Starscream had whined about not being fully repaired before the mission to Bourzey—that he wasn't worth the resources or some such self-pitying nonsense. Starscream still had ego, even when casting himself as the victim.

"Useful," Barricade insisted, flatly. After a long moment, he rolled his eyes. "Psyops. Useful. If I can hard break one of them."

Starscream cut in. "Show them snivelling and weak."

Barricade tilted his head dismissively, as if that was a barely-decent idea. "Or, get them to say something negative about their human allies. With less glamor, they'd still know things like mission profiles, objectives, current level of resupply. Useful."

"They will not just outright tell you these things," Starscream said.

"Be surprised what you let slip when you talk."

"I? I revealed nothing."

"Oh? I read your report, Starscream." He said it like a warning.

"You read—why?"

"I am the chief intelligence officer. Or had you forgotten." More of that unsettling blandness.

"But Soundwave—"

"Soundwave is better at crypto and signals intelligence. Analysis requires a slightly different kind of processing. Now would you care for further education regarding what you revealed to the Autobots during your excessively long captivity?" Blackout swore he saw the hint of a malicious smile on Barricade's mouth as Starscream bridled. "I have broken down your intelligence shortfalls into three main categories: what you revealed about our kind, as in Cybertronian; what you revealed about the Decepticons; and what you revealed about yourself." Definite smile, now—Barricade was jerking Starscream's strings. For fun.

Starscream's mouth opened, to protest. He snapped it shut. Blackout never thought he'd see the day: Starscream, at a loss for words. This was priceless.

Barricade took a step back, coming out of his aggressive pose. "Now, if you don't mind, I do have work to do. If I need your assistance, I will request it." He nodded amicably at Blackout, giving him a wry almost-wink. Tearing Starscream down was apparently Barricade's way of a little friendly teasing. Oh well, Starscream would get over it. He could follow a good instinct, and at bottom he knew Barricade was a better ally than enemy. At least, if he were half as smart as he thought he was.


	3. Chapter 3

III.

"Now," Barricade said, making sure he was positioned exactly where he wanted to be, just out of line of sight.

The repair bot unhooked an auxiliary power cable, and hit the override. The purple bot hanging in the repair cradle twitched once, twice, as her own power source came online. The repair bot shuffled to the shadows by the head of the cradle, out of her sight entirely, ready to shut her down if Barricade gave the command. Barricade couldn't imagine he'd need to. But he hadn't gotten as far as he had without taking odd precautions.

"Whe-where am I?" she said, her voice feeble and small. Her eyes, still powering up, clicked from side to side.

"You are safe," he said, keeping his voice low and soothing.

"I don't know your voice," she said. "Who are you? I can't see you. Why can't I see you?" Her voice took on a note of panic. She stirred in the plasmesh of the repair cradle.

"You are safe," Barricade repeated. Same tone of voice. Could just have set up a recording, he told himself. Get through all of this tedious and completely predictable exchange. "You cannot yet see because your optics have not yet cycled through to lowlight." Well, that and Barricade had ordered the repair bot to resequence her startup. To give him just this window of blind opportunity. "How are you feeling?"

"I still can't see!" she said.

"It will come, I assure you. You were badly damaged so your power was reserved for more necessary functions. It merely takes a moment to reroute itself." Sure, different story than what he'd just told her. Good test of mental acuity: see if she caught the inconsistency.

She didn't. "I am injured? I remember, I think…," her voice trailed off.

Nope. Not where Barricade wanted her to be. Wanted her here and now. "You are safe now." Primus, he was bored already with saying that. Shut up, he told himself. You know how to do this. "That is what matters."

"Where am I? Where is everyone else?" He could tell from the slower way she moved her head that her optics were coming back online.

"You are with me," he said. "You are in the repair bay." Keep it simple. Like to see her say he lied.

"This is a repair bay?" her voice was doubtful. "Where are the humans?" She pushed herself a little upright in the cradle—an awkward maneuver, considering that to begin with, she was barely large enough for it. The repair bot scuttled farther into the shadows.

"We have no humans."

"No humans—are you…?" her eyes snapped to focus on Barricade's face. He could see the irises pinch in fear. "You're one of them!" She tried to push herself away from him in the cradle, but the cradle's straps had caught around the fairing over her foot-tire.

"You are safe," he said, adding just a little more insistence in this time. "Here, with me." Good idea to plant the idea early that her safety was linked to his proximity. Could come in handy later.

"You're going to kill me." A defiant tip to her pointed chin.

"If I were going to kill you, why would I repair you and wake you up first?"

"Because—"

"Because that's just what depraved, sadistic Decepticons do? Is that what you were going to say?" He didn't try hard to keep the amusement out of his voice. Not that he minded a terrifying reputation, but sometimes it got a bit laughable: Decepticons ate protoforms before battle. Decepticons powered their starships with the sparks of dead Autobots. Insane, ridiculous stuff. Whoever was in charge of their psyops had a real bloodthirsty streak.

She had enough decency (not common sense, though) to drop her eyes. "I-I'm sorry." Could always count on the Autobots to worry about the other's _feelings_. Predictable, the Autobots had yet to learn, meant easily manipulable.

"It is nothing. How are you feeling?"

"I am…functional."

"Your weapons have been disabled," he said, trying to sound apologetic. "Necessary precaution. You understand."

She didn't trust him—tried to power up her fusion blade. When nothing happened, her shoulders slumped. "I'm a prisoner."

"Better than dead."

"Why me? Am I the only one? Where's Chromia? Is she here? Can I see her?"

"We do not have this Chromia. She looks like you?"

"Yes, she's blue. She's my sister. Are you sure you don't have her?"

He shook his head. "I am sorry. We do not have your sister."

The cycle bot looked torn between relief and worry. Relief that Chromia wasn't here, but also worry—maybe this Chromia was dead. Barricade made a note to look up what he could on the cycle bots. Their Autobot personnel database wasn't much, but it occasionally had a few gems. Would be nice to have some help doing this: with the two prisoners, Barricade wasn't going to have any downtime any time soon. He wasn't sure when he'd be able to squeeze in his interrogation prep. But he hadn't gotten where he was—finally, a position of respect—by complaining about too much work. Not that he'd have time to complain. He debated pulling an incentive—an offer to send a message to this Chromia—but decided it was too soon. Start throwing in the heavy approaches too early, and tip your hand. She was still trying to swallow the concept that he wasn't going to kill her and eat her circuitry while she died. Nice guy would be too big a lump for her to get her throat around.

"What are you going to do with me?"

"You mean, since I am not going to kill you?" He tried an easy smile. He was aware he didn't have the most appealing face, but he wasn't going for 'handsome' here. Just a standard 'harmless'. Worked: she gave a fleeting return smile. Thin, insincere, but still—it was a response-in-kind. "I suspect they are planning to hold you for ransom. Or perhaps a prisoner exchange. That sort of thing." 'They' to keep him separated from the rest of the Decepticons. He didn't need her to like them. Just him. Trying to convince her that every Decepticon was as sweet and pure as new oil was a task too large and laughable. Let her hang on to her hate and fear of them. Just not him.

"Hold me for…?"

"Yes. You see, you're perfectly safe. They'd need you alive, and in good condition, right?" _Right?_ He pushed the word at her. Get her to agree with you. On anything. Leading rapport. Right, he said in his head. Right.

After a moment, "Yes, I guess so."

He deflected her doubt. "You think they wouldn't give a ransom for you? Surely they value you."

"Well, yes, but…."

"But what?"

She seemed embarrassed. "I've never heard of it happening. A ransom or anything like that."

He gave an easy shrug. Time to interject a dose of doubt-about-the-leadership. "They probably don't like to advertise. You know, that they've done deals with us. Doesn't play well to say, yeah, we gave the bad guys one of their bad guys back."

"I guess that makes sense."

"In a weird way, yes." He shifted forward. "Now, how are you doing? Anything I can get you?"

"I'm not sure who you are." A little non-linear but he'd go with it. Random meant off-balance,

and off-balance was good.

He flashed another fakely charming smile. "Sorry. Forgot. I'm Barricade." He watched her closely from under slightly lowered lids for her reaction. Nothing. She'd never heard of him. Good for this interrogation, but it still pricked his professional pride.

She held out her hand. Barricade froze, and then realized he was supposed to take it. He closed his hand around her small fingers awkwardly. "I'm Flareup," she said.

Barricade fought for the something she was waiting for him to say. "Sister of Chromia," he said, finally. Stupid, but it was something. She smiled. Must have been close enough.

"So are you my guard or something?"

He summoned up that slick soothing voice, the one he thought of as Starscream's at his most unctuous. "Something. Of course you will not be allowed to wander unaccompanied, you understand. But I am here to make sure you are reasonably well treated. And to address your concerns." And to find if there's anything useful in that pretty little head of yours. Of course there was, he corrected himself. Everyone knows something. Even if they don't know they know it.

"Is there anyone else here?"

"You are on a ship full of Decepticons," he said, flatly. "Most of them bigger than me. Is that what you wanted to know?" He knew what she was really asking—if they'd taken another Autobot. He wasn't ready to answer that one yet. "Now, what concerns you?"

Flareup's face went through a rapid shift of expressions, scrunching up, at last, into tears. "I just, I want to go home!" she wailed.

Barricade closed his eyelids so she wouldn't see him roll his eyes. And everyone wondered why he called this a thankless and miserable job.


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

Ironhide was proving to be a little less tedious, but just as predictable. Good thing he'd warmed up running a friendly-up on the cyclebot. This one was going to require a bit more handling.

Starting with physical. He'd had the repair bots disconnect voluntary motor control of the Autobot's limbs. Not permanently. Barricade wanted to have something to offer as a reward. But right now, if Ironhide had the use of his limbs, he'd be tearing the place apart. As it was, he'd already managed to flip himself out of the repair cradle and crush one of the spindly little bots. Barricade had retreated to the corner, folding his arms over his chest. "Done yet?" he asked, as the Autobot flopped on the floor, trying to damage anything he could with his bodyweight.

"Get over here and I'll let you know," Ironhide snarled.

Barricade laughed, a good pride/ego down. "And why should I do that?"

"So I can shove that smirk so far down your throat it'll block your exhaust."

"Hmmm. Sounds tempting, really. Think I'll pass, though." Barricade squatted down so he was closer to Ironhide's level. "I take it," he said, dripping with fake sympathy, "you're unhappy."

"Unhappy!" The Autobot flailed on the ground, his limp limbs bouncing wildly off the floor. He looked ready to bite Barricade's shinplates if he could get to them. This, Barricade thought, might be easier than I expected. This one's halfway over the edge already.

"Too strong a word?" Being deliberately obtuse. If the Autobot wanted to be angry, Barricade would gladly help.

Ironhide sputtered in rage. Barricade filed this as useful information. Ironhide did not deal well with frustration. Time to switch tactics. If he was going to hard break Ironhide, it would have to be spectacular. And now wasn't spectacular enough. Sure, there might be some cachet in breaking Ironhide fast, but Barricade took pride in his technique. Speed often compromised thoroughness. If, when he broke the Autobot, he intended him to stay broken.

"I hear you put up a hell of a fight." Little pride up this time.

"You heard wrong," the Autobot sneered. Barricade frowned. Maybe he shouldn't have blown off Blackout and Starscream's offer. "One of your morons clobbered me from behind. Like a slaggin' coward."

Switch to ego down. "That must be embarrassing for a warrior like you. To be taken like that."

Ironhide glared at him, but didn't disagree. This one was easy to figure—liked his reputation as a badass.

"You weren't the only capture, you know." Calculated risk to play this hand this early. But Barricade had a hunch, and they'd always paid off in the past.

"Who? Who else did you bastards get?"

Time for a good thick lie. "I don't know the name. The bot has yet to regain consciousness."

Ironhide's chin gouged the floor as he tried to look around the repair bay. No such luck: Barricade had separated the two upon arrival. "Where? What's it look like? Is it purple?" The neutral pronoun didn't fool Barricade: Ironhide suspected the other one was the female bot Flareup, but he didn't want to give away that they'd gotten a girl. Curious.

"I don't know. I have not yet seen him." Barricade played dumb. "All I have are the repair reports. The bots are sometimes not as detailed in their reports as we might wish." A beat. "However, if you wish me to, I'd be happy to find out more detail."

Ironhide snarled. "Don't do me any favors." Ah, Barricade thought, be begging for me to do you favors soon. Just you watch.

Barricade smiled. "I'll let you know anyway, how's that?"

Ironhide ground his facial plates together in frustration. All the answer Barricade was going to get.

"You know," Barricade continued, "You might, and this is just a suggestion, mind you, be a little more comfortable in the repair cradle."

"Easy for your little parasites to get at me that way."

"They are repair bots. They repair things. Most impartial little creatures in the universe. Actually hurts what little feelings they have not to be allowed to fix you." Ironhide grunted. Simple-minded little Autobots. Always count on them, even this one, to worry about feelings. "Harming you is counter to their programming." Best leave out for the moment that Barricade, of course, had the override codes for that little directive. "Now, really. Let the repair bots get you back in the cradle. I bet you'd like to feel your legs."

Ironhide glared up at Barricade.

"Like you'd let them do that."

"I would. If only," and he let the least bit of contempt into his voice, as he stepped forward so that his toe plates were inches from Ironhide's face, "to be able to look you in the eye."


	5. Chapter 5

V.

The humans had a saying, Starscream had discovered, to put one's foot down. It apparently meant that one simply refused to do what was asked of one. It somehow signified respect. So Starscream had decided to follow this. He put his foot down. Literally, in this case. He settled with Repair Bay Gamma, Alpha and Beta taken up respectively by the prisoners. Whole repair bays, for two of them. And Autobots. Barricade better know what he was doing. If it were up to Starscream, they'd both be spending their little sojourn in the brig. Or in some version of that infernal suspension harness the humans had inflicted on him in Diego Garcia. Repair them? When he had been left untreated for five days? He would not tolerate it.

Still. The repair bots hustled with as much haste and diligence as Starscream could possibly require. They'd set up the effervescing tank in which to soak his metal-shocked right leg. The clear liquid quickly colored to rust brown as the corrosive byproduct of the metal shock was flushed out of the fine motor mechanics of his leg and foot.

They'd brought out a new hand for him—machined to measurements they'd taken during his aborted visit last time, now ready for installation—when of all the bots, Barricade buzzed his comm.

"I am occupied," Starscream said, crisply.

"Not going to make this easy for me, are you?" He could hear the smile in Barricade's voice. Who knew what the smaller bot thought of him? Who cared?

"I cannot imagine why I should."

A short bark of laughter. Then, "As it turns out, I do need information about the capture."

Starscream felt his mouth curve into a smile. "Do you, now?" he drawled.

"Enjoy this while you can, Air Commander." Barricade sounded strangely amused. Still, using one of Starscream's titles warmed the jet's little spark to something like good will. "Yes, I need your help. I am, if you want to hear it, _asking_ for your help."

"Why did you not ask Blackout?"

"Blackout told me to talk to you."

Ha! Starscream thought. Stonewalled by Blackout, are you? His estimation of the helicopter bot shot up a few levels. "I am in RB Gamma." He cut the comm. If Barricade wanted him so badly, he'd drag his undersized little frame over here. Maybe see the damage a real warrior has to take.

*****

Barricade, when he showed up a few cycles later, had Blackout in tow. Starscream wondered when he'd picked up the copterbot. He felt suddenly relieved he hadn't voiced his opinion about Blackout over the comm. Blackout returned his salutation with one of his curt nods.

The repair bots huddled over the installation of his right hand paused, unsure what to do. "Continue," Starscream told them. "It is not going well and you need our assistance, I take it?"

"It is going fine," Barricade corrected, a little hotly, "But it would be smoother if I had some more information."

Starscream looked at Blackout, who had settled himself gingerly against the wall, his injured rotor resting over his shoulder. Blackout gave a one-shouldered shrug. "You recall the mission profile?"

"One of Megatron's little disciplinary specials, I take it." Behind Barricade, Blackout snorted. "Fairly heavy resistance."

"Five of them, and a team of the humans," Starscream said. "Three of us and some drones."

"Two of us, Dead End, and some drones," Blackout corrected. Not the little red runt's biggest fan.

"Small cycle bot, purple." Barricade said.

"Yes?"

"Whose capture?"

"Starscream's."

"Impressive," Barricade said, wryly. Starscream curled his fists in anger. How dare Barricade comment on a warrior's performance. He winced as the motion pinched half-installed plates on his new hand.

"I was instrumental in the capture of Ironhide as well," he said. "The cycle bot was merely an amusement."

"And she was beating the hydraulic fluid out of the grounder." Blackout added. "Give him credit for a rescue of a comrade-under-fire."

"Yes," Starscream added. "That, too."

"Hrm." Barricade said. "Might need you later, Starscream. If you were the one to take her down. Scare the daylights out of her."

"I object to being used in such a fashion."

"Oh, get over it," Blackout said. "Warrior enough to beat up on a girl. Surely you can handle a little intimidation."

"A warrior does not attack an enemy that has already surrendered." Starscream remembered too well his treatment by the NEST team that had helped capture him. He was not going to be caught acting like a filthy unprincipled human. "And she engaged with me."

Barricade gave that lopsided smirk he had whenever someone revealed something too useful about themselves. Starscream shut his mouth. "Wouldn't ask you to hit her, of course. But, a little play-acting. Surely you can handle that."

"I can handle anything," Starscream retorted. "I merely choose not to compromise my honor."

"Don't think all the play acting in the world is gonna intimidate Ironhide, though," Blackout said. "All you did was yap at each other."

Starscream glared at the helicopter. "Precisely what is your problem with me, Blackout?"

"I was just letting Barricade know—"

Starscream pushed himself upright in the repair cradle. Some of the rust-colored fluid from the tank spattered onto the floor. "We deal with this now, Blackout. As warriors, if need be. What is your problem with me." Not a question this time.

Blackout stiffened. He kept his arms casually folded across his chassis, but his shoulder gyros tightened. "Nothing."

"Insufficient."

Barricade stepped lightly aside, watching this with keen interest.

Blackout dropped his gaze. "Got your replacement parts already. Unfair."

Starscream relaxed back into the plasmesh cradle. "Is that all? You believe I am receiving preferential treatment?" He shook his hand free of the repair bots. The metal was shiny and too new. "I went into battle with a non-functioning hand. It did not even function as a _hand_, do you understand me?" Blackout avoided meeting his eye awkwardly. One repair bot, determined to do his job, clambered out along Starscream's outstretched arm. "The reason my replacement parts are ready is that the measurements were taken before I left. The repair bots had time to alter and machine them in our absence. That is the entire explanation."

Starscream kept his eyes on Blackout until the copter grunted, "Fine. Whatever."

"You know," Barricade cut in, "You could at least have the repair bots give you a sensor block until the new rotor is ready."

"'M fine." Blackout ruffled his injured rotors self -consciously. "Talk about something else already."

Barricade tilted his head to study Blackout more closely.

"What?" the copter snarled.

"Nothing. Just…interesting."

Starscream laughed. "He has figured some angle on you, too, now, Blackout. Welcome to the club." He lifted part of his injured leg out of the tank to inspect the progress. "It is not, unfortunately, a very exclusive club."

"What else you want to know?" Blackout said. Unhappy, but trying to mask it. The problem with Barricade is he made everyone second-guess themselves.

"So you caught the cycle bot attacking Dead End?" Barricade waited for confirmation. "Why was she attacking him?"

"He trumped up some obviously false story about rescuing me," Starscream said. "No truth to it." He studied the progress on his new hand. "Then he suffered an unfortunate reboot. I suspect that the experience of actual combat overloaded his circuits."

"I see." Barricade said, neutrally. "And Ironhide?"

"Blackout blindsided him." Starscream said pointedly.

Blackout shot a 'yeah, thanks' look at Starscream. "He and Starscream would still be swapping insults if I didn't move things along."

"And you would still be swatting at Prime." How dare Blackout impugn his warrior abilities?

"You had nothing to do with—"

Barricade cut them off. "On task, please. What were you discussing with Ironhide?"

"The cycle bot, actually."

"Really?"

"You think I would fabricate such an insignificant detail?"

"Not at all. It's just," Barricade smirked, "…interesting."

Starscream frowned. He broke eye contact with Barricade, engrossing himself in testing the mobility of his new digits. After a moment, he looked up at Blackout. "Have you received basic repairs?"

Blackout shifted uncomfortably. "Have to wait until the rotor's ready."

"Not for that coolant line."

"It's been patched."

"Patched is not sufficient." Starscream plucked one of the repair bots off his hand and tossed it at Blackout. Blackout caught it awkwardly, the little bot's limbs swinging wildly.

"Don't want your charity." He tried to put the repair bot down, but the little bot, catching sight of Blackout's injuries, struggled to climb up the copter's torso.

"It is not charitable, I assure you. It is a dereliction of duty for a warrior to not be in fighting condition at all times."

"You think he believes that?" Barricade interjected. "Real reason's something else. Isn't it?"

"Stay out of the business of warriors," Starscream snapped.

"Always did overestimate your importance in the scheme of things," Barricade replied, calmly.

"Have you learned what you wanted to know?"

"More, actually." He turned, pausing so Blackout, still trying to scrape the repair bot off him, could step out of his way. "Be in touch if I need more information."


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

The repair bots' frightened alarm hit his comm as Barricade was making his way back to RB Beta. Not the most articulate creatures in the best of situations—apparently fear knocked out what little sense they had. Barricade stepped up his pace, just below a run. Short bots who ran got laughed at, he'd learned the hard way. He didn't have to learn the same lesson twice. Unlike some bots he could name.

He cycled through the repair bay doors to the sound of repair bots squealing. Most of them huddled along one wall, clicking and fretting nervously over one of their own who laid limp and unmoving.. One or two still bravely attempted to approach the cradle where the cycle bot was adding her own gratuitous decibels to the general din.

"Get away! Get away!" she shrieked, swiping the air in front of the approaching repair bots.

"Stop," Barricade said, calmly. The repair bots froze in position, just like they practiced in countless drills. After a cycle, Flareup stopped swinging and squealing. She looked up at Barricade with liquid-glossed eyes.

"Please keep them away from me." Her voice trembled. Good. She was already looking to him for help.

"They will not harm you," he said. He signalled the cluster on the floor. They picked up their fallen comrade and scuttled off into a side room. Barricade picked up one of the ones that had been trying to approach Flareup. Couldn't fault their courage. If courage meant programming over common sense. "Repair bots are entirely harmless. See?" He let the bot clamber up his arm. It pricked up its entire sensor array, and snuffled its way up his arm, around his head, and down to his chassis. With a bleep of satisfaction, it got to work tightening a few loose bolts.

"I don't care. I don't like them."

"Flareup," he said, "They are here to repair you. Without them, you cannot be repaired. You need to let them help you." Probably a good idea not to tell her that before she'd been brought back online, there'd been dozens of the things climbing all over her. Send her into permanent feedback loop.

"No. I'm fine. I-I don't need repairs."

He let the absurdity of her statement pass without comment. "How about one? Let one come near you. I will be right here."

"They attacked the humans."

"They were frightened. Just like you are. And the humans were invading their home. They had never seen a human before." The repair bot crawled its way down Barricade's other arm, where it busied itself testing the brake pads. He held up his arm. "You see it is not harming me."

"But that's because you're one of…them."

Big leap. Time to play on that Autobot sensitivity. "Flareup. Do you trust me?"

She faltered. "N-well, I don't know. I guess so."

"Trust me," he said. He held out the repair bot. "I will not let it harm you. The instant it does something that hurts you, that will be the end."

"Why? Why do you care?"

"I would like you to be repaired. It really is that simple." More precisely, he hoped she was that simple. But the more things he could 'give' her, the more she'd feel that Autobot indebtedness to him. And the more he could erode the 'evil Decepticon' stereotype….

She still looked wary. "A warrior needs to be brave," he added. Sometimes knowing Starscream's ridiculous ideology came in handy. Like when he could spout entirely inappropriate aphorisms like this. And manage to sound convincing. In reality, just a bunch of crap cobbled up by those who were most expendable so that they could feel their numerous and painful deaths were somehow worthwhile. He supposed he didn't begrudge them that.

She reached out for the bot, shrunk back, reached out again. The bot hesitated, and then jumped from Barricade's hand onto her arm, where it began again, on full sensor snuffle. She watched it as it worked its way slowly up her arm, pausing to airblast grit from her joints, or dab protective primer on deep scores in her paint. "It kind of tickles," she said.

"You do not have repair bots?" He knew the answer, of course. Time to test her honesty with him.

"No. Well, I've never seen any. We have medical bots, but they're, well, like us."

"Fully sentient, you mean."

"Yes, and big. And they can talk. These can't talk, right?"

"Not really. They can generate simple reports, but most of their communication is sensory. They are very primitive."

"He seems to be enjoying himself. Oooh!" The repair bot popped up in front of her face, flashing lights in her eyes to test her ocular reflexes.

"Would you like me to stop it?" Stupid repair bot could have ruined everything.

"No. It's okay. Just…startled me." The repair bot bleeped at her and climbed up her face to the top of her head. It tapped delicately at the seams in her helmet, testing the joins.

"Not very well-mannered," Barricade said. "But it is not hurting you, is it?"

"No. It is…weird. Normally I can talk to Ratchet."

Barricade filed the name away. He knew most of the Autobot team on Earth, but this one was now safe to use. "You can talk to them. They will listen to commands. Such as," he raised his voice a bit. "Right shoulder." The repair bot scrambled off Flareup's head and began investigating her shoulder joint. "See? Or if you have a priority to repair, like audio-memory. They'd get to everything eventually, but sometimes they get hung up on non-essential repairs. Normally we trust them to do their jobs. Can't imagine they d have anything interesting to say, though."

"It seems wrong, though. That they're just…well, machines."

A typical Autobot philosophy. Sentience for everybody. So everyone can enjoy the miseries of self-awareness. "Does it look unhappy or happy to you?"

"Well, it doesn't look unhappy. Or ill-treated." He hadn't even mentioned that other bit of Autobot propaganda. Even Megatron didn't stoop to beating up repair bots. But Barricade filed that bit away, too.

"And be honest," Barricade smiled, "Does thinking really make one happier?"

She didn't respond, watching the bot's delicate multiple limbs at work. The creature was entirely focussed on its job. "I saw one of these kill himself," she said, finally. "That seems like sentience."

"Fear is a very primitive emotion. Directly related to survival." That answer didn't seem to work, so a moment later, he added, "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"They get scared."

Yes, Barricade thought impatiently. We just went over that. Fear. Primitive emotion. Self-preservation. He bit down on his impatience. "That is why we keep them here. Where they can feel safe. They would not function well in combat."

"Maybe that's best. That they don't see fighting." Barricade felt the quiver of another hunch. Get caught up in things that bother them. Classical projection.

"You do not like to fight." He kept his voice as bland as possible.

"No one likes fighting," she said. Barricade bit down a snort. Clearly she'd never spoken to those idiots like Starscream or Brawl. "But we have to do it." Ah yes, this tiresome Autobot line. Tell you how much they hate fighting. While they're kicking your ass. No, really. We hate this.

"Do you?"

"Yes. You have to fight for what you believe in." Nauseating platitude. For the ones who claimed to be more 'civilized' it always amazed Barricade how they boiled their ideology into such childish feel-good slogans.

"Admirable," he said, proud of himself for not choking on the sarcasm. "What do you believe in?" No matter how this played out, he'd have something to laugh about afterwards.

"I believe in? Well, in freedom, of course. Freedom for everyone."

"What's freedom?" He tried his best to sound wide-eyed and curious like a newly-evolving drone.

She looked down at him with something like pity. Doubtless thinking she was going to enlighten him. "Freedom. It's getting to be whatever you want to be."

"But you have to fight even though you don't want to. Are you free?"

She faltered. "Well, yes. Because no one made me do it. I could have done something else if I wanted to." She continued, changing gears, "And besides, I can say whatever I want. I have freedom to have my opinions."

"As long as part of that opinion is that Decepticons are bad." He flashed a quick, sardonic smile. "I'm sorry. I do not mean to distress you. But did you ever consider that if we had all had this freedom you speak of, we would never have come to war?" He believed that like he believed Megatron had a sense of humor.

Flareup froze, exactly the same as if he'd suddenly pointed a laser cannon at her face. Even the repair bot looked up for a moment before busying itself oiling joints in her frame.

"Never mind," Barricade said. "Philosophy. Mere abstractions. Let us speak of something more pleasant.

Perhaps you could tell me more about your sister?" It sounded heavy and obvious as soon as he said it.

"My sister?" She looked wary.

"This Chromia. You mentioned her last time. You are worried about her?"

"Chromia is tough. She can take care of herself." Hrm. She was blocking him. Wonder why. Time to back off.

"I am sorry," he said, though in reality he wanted nothing more than to shake her til her ocular circuits popped. "I did not mean to pry. I merely wanted to talk about something less worrisome. What can we talk about that will not upset you?"

She got a crafty gleam in her eye. So obvious. "I would like to learn more about your kind."

All right. He'd give her a show. "Certainly. What would you like to know?"


	7. Chapter 7

VII.

Blackout tried to be philosophical. Since Starscream outranked him, his word was a lawful order. So he needed to get himself repaired. But Starscream didn't say where. The repair bots in RB Alpha scurried over to him as soon as he came in, swarming up his legs as he walked through the first room—ambulatory—and into the second. Regen was even farther back. He could hear the soft hum of the motor that kept Sideways in stasis, when or until Megatron finally decided reviving Sideways was worth the energon. But in the cradle clinic, he found what he was looking for.

"Wish I could say you've looked better," he said to Ironhide, immobilized in the cradle. "But I kinda like this look for you."

The Autobot's blue eyes glared at him, but he said nothing.

"Know you can talk, you know," Blackout said.

"What do you want?" Ironhide snarled. "To look at me? Make fun of me? Fine. Go ahead." Repair bots laid open the Autobot's arm casings, working to patch or replace connections Blackout had severed when securing him for transport. Ironhide gestured down at them with his chin. "Enjoy your handiwork."

Blackout tilted his head, evaluating. "I am thorough."

"I've got some other things you can call yourself, too." Defiant to the last. Barricade probably had his hands full with this one.

"Actually," Blackout winced as a repair bot pinched the coolant line it was working on. "Didn't come here for that."

"That Barricade send you? Figured he wouldn't be able to do the job himself. Call in someone bigger and stupider."

If the insult was supposed to hurt, it misfired. Ironhide didn't know much about Decepticon rank structure. "He didn't send me."

"That bastard Starscream, then."

"No. Not him either. Surprise you to think I might have come on my own?"

"Why? Beating up an injured bot build your character?"

Blackout waited so Ironhide could see the insult rolling off his back. "Want to know why you do it. You know they don't appreciate it. You know they hold you apart for being too good at it." Blackout stepped forward, the light glossing across his face. "For liking it too much."

Ironhide's eyes shuttered. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure." Disbelief crammed into that one syllable.

"They appreciate me plenty!" Ironhide insisted, his head rising off the cradle. "Right there, alongside Prime. Every time."

"So he can keep an eye on you." Blackout grinned unpleasantly. "No? Ever go solo?"

"Go slag yourself."

The repair bots swarmed around Blackout's feet, nudging him toward a repair cradle. He tried to ignore them, but they were pathetic in their insistence. "Fine," he muttered to them. "Just something to think about, Ironhide. You know, while you've got all this time on your hands."

*****

He let them push him into a cradle, wincing as they lifted his broken rotor out of the way. He would learn to endure this. He would. That was the one thing Starscream had on him—his ability to take pain. The one thing that separated them. It wasn't brains. It wasn't combat ability. It boiled down, simply, to pain. And maybe that Starscream was a little crazy. But if he ever wanted to make it up the ranks, he had to overcome this. He could feel the pain gnawing at him, making it hard to keep a thought together. Making it hard to concentrate. His whole world seemed to hover around the edges of the broken rotor. Such a small piece, not even the size of the palm of one of his hands, taking over his entire concentration. He had to master this. Else he'd be stuck where he was, like Vortex. A dead-ender. Happy to serve in the most menial capacity. Honor and glory beyond him.

"Ignore," he barked at the repair bots, who had clustered around the rotor. "Coolant line priority." They scrambled in different directions: some to get replacement line, some for more coolant. Two or three got to work lifting the access plates of his armor. The rotor throbbed in its socket, the sensors overheating from sending their signals without reply. What humans might call an infection, burning through his entire rotor system. Nothing to do but think. Sit here, feel it, get over it. Get on top of it. All right, pain, he said in his mind. Here I am. Here we are. Let's go.


	8. Chapter 8

VIII.

If Unicron can't go to the planets, Barricade had decided, the planets would come to Unicron. No way even he could seriously consider letting an Autobot, even one as flimsy and ditzy as this cycle bot, wander the ship. She would not escape, of course. Very idea was laughable. But she might remember floorplans, locations, critical sites, that would she could exploit later. When/if she was returned to the Autobots. It might happen. And Barricade had to prepare for any eventuality. She might be returned. Surely they would do something to try to get her back.

And even if they didn't, he could exploit it. The old 'abandoned by your comrades' approach.

So, she had to stay where she was in RB Beta. But drones were plenty mobile, and their novelty-seeking behavior made them easy to attract. They developed by seeing and experiencing new things—a drone, left by itself, would never evolve sentience. Sure, it was theoretically possible, the same way that Barricade could wake up tomorrow with a pink chestplate. Statistically possible. Improbable. So, what would be better than a little excursion to see a real life Autobot?

The dronekeeper seemed to appreciate the distraction, herding his charges into the repair bay with relief. "Can't talk yet," he said to Barricade. "Can show curiosity." Barricade nodded. Just what he needed.

The drones clustered around Flareup, staring. She stared back a little apprehensively. "What are these things?"

"Drones. They are on their way to developing sentience." Most of them would die before that ever happened, but why let the truth stand in the way of a convenient fairy tale? Might be useful later, depending on how this went, to point out that many of them would die their early and unsentient deaths at Autobot hands. "In a way, you're helping them."

"I'm helping them?" She turned her head back to them. Twenty drone heads, with blank, dumb eyes, tracked the movement.

"New experience."

"Oh." She turned back. "Hello," she said, slowly and loudly. Barricade rolled his eyes. He didn't say they were deaf.

A few bleated back, the random bursts of noise they had in place of speech.

She reached a hand out to them. All eyes swiveled to follow the action, but they didn't move away or towards it, unsure whether to classify the gesture as a threat or not.

"What do they want?"

They're drones, Barricade thought. They don't _want_ anything. Maybe the Autobots wouldn't try too hard to get her back: she sure was set on a dimmer switch. "Maybe get to know you."

She leaned over the edge of the cradle, arm still extended. "My name is Flareup. You want to see something?" She spun the wheel of her right hand, first slowly, then faster and faster until the air hummed through the wire spokes. She slowed it down. "Can you do that?"

Of course, being drones, they took it literally. One stuck his claw in her spokes and started pushing. The dronemaster grunted, pleased. At least one of them was showing some initiative.

This was swiftly devolving to the saccharine. Barricade felt a palpable relief when his comm buzzed.

"Barricade," he said, shortly. His comm was filled with the same sort of panicked visuals and sounds as before. More repair bot drama. RB Alpha. Ironhide. "I will return," he said, he hoped decently enough, and ducked out. The dronemaster nodded.

On his way to RB Alpha, he racked the surveillance footage of the room. Blackout, he thought. Curiously passive-aggressive choice. Not whom he would have expected. He'd have to have a talk with Blackout. If he hadn't already been running hostiles on Ironhide, this could have seriously slagged things for him.

"Calm down," he told the repair bots, as he crossed the threshold. Most of them had—a few at work on Blackout's coolant line, a small team at work on knitting together the Autobot's arm control cables and servos. A knot of them squatted between the two repair cradles, clicking unhappily. Almost as if they picked up on the bad atmosphere here.

Better show if I do it this way. He swung around to face Blackout. Repair bots were running an auxiliary coolant line from the ceiling, while they installed a new stretch of flexmesh line. Blackout's right ventral torso plating, the side and front windscreens shattered, had been lifted off, and was being undented and repainted on the floor by the cradle. Without the bulky armor, Blackout looked…strange. A mass of cables and wires, as though he were made of snakes and tangled cord. Unsettling. But Barricade wasn't here for that. "What do you think you're doing?" he hissed.

Blackout levered his eyes open. "Repairs. As ordered."

Barricade narrowed his eyes, waiting.

"Closest repair bay," Blackout added, after a moment.

Barricade didn't move.

"Wanted to get in his face, all right? Tired of their attitude. His especially."

"Why?" Barricade's voice was cool and neutral.

"Why his? He's one of us. On the inside."

"Is he?"

"Not one of them. Not really. Pacifist? No way." Blackout's hand twitched as one of the repair bots jerked the coolant supply hose against his rotors.

Barricade grunted. Blackout had a point. "Let me get this right. Trying to turn him?"

Blackout set his mouth, his eyes wary.

"Not a joke. Not a bad idea." The other robot's shoulders relaxed. Barricade looked over his shoulder at Ironhide, whose blue eyes glared at them from the unpleasant stillness of his repair cradle. "I you, though," he added, under his breath so the Autobot couldn't overhear, "I'd watch the hero worship of the enemy."

Blackout's eyes blazed furious red. He jerked up in the cradle, until his broken rotor snagged the plasmesh. With a sudden hiss of pain, he sagged back.

"Leave this to the experts," Barricade said. "And get a sensor block on that rotor if it's bothering you too much." By Blackout's hot reaction, Barricade decided there was something to why Blackout delayed that repair. Something he didn't have time to investigate right now.


	9. Chapter 9

IX.

"Get him out of here," Ironhide snarled, the minute Barricade approached him.

"Is this Autobot courage? Cowed by being looked at?"

"I don't like him."

"Doesn't like you too much, either." The fact that Ironhide was so vexed by Blackout's mere presence showed that maybe the copter's comment had hit home. Something to work with.

The Autobot narrowed his eyes. "Keep him away from me." The threat was so empty it seemed to echo in the repair bay. Blackout had gone back to staring at the ceiling, thinking whatever a dumb brute thinks, Barricade thought. Probably going over his latest slugfest.

Barricade smiled. "Matter of time before you started asking me favors, didn't I tell you?" Actually, he hadn't, but Ironhide got the reference anyway.

Ironhide's face flattened. "Fine. Leave him there."

Barricade shrugged, insolently. "As you wish. I suppose this means you do not want me to check on your fellow Autobot."

Ironhide's face worked, as if he were chewing on frustration. After a long moment, he said, "When will these vermin be finished with their repairs?"

Barricade plastered a look of surprise on his face. "Something else for me to check on for you?"

"Want to know so I can strangle you."

Barricade laughed. "You're funny, do you know that?" Pride and ego down was working wonders. But used too much, a bot could get numb. Time to switch it up. Something he'd never expect. "So," Barricade said, "where are you getting your energon from?" Since Vortex's recon of Meteor Crater had doubtless been reported straight to the Autobots, even a simpleton like their leader would deduce that the Decepticons were after energon. Not exactly a secret. If Vortex had done a better job…if Megatron had sent Barricade instead…. But that was fantasy. This was reality.

Ironhide smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yes, actually. I would like to know."

"Yeah. Now that I know what you're after, I'll make sure not to tell you."

"Look forward to the challenge," Barricade countered. "That is, if you even know anything about it."

"Of course I do. I told your imbecile over there," he jerked his chin at Blackout, still splayed in the repair cradle, "I'm right there with Prime. Anything he knows, I know." Barricade cocked his head, doubting. Ironhide growled, but got himself back under control. "Desperate for it, aren't you?"

Barricade considered. "Think of it this way, Autobot. Say we wanted nothing more than to leave. We've had enough. You win. There is nothing more in this entire solar system worth our time. But we don't have enough energon to boost off, and leave you and your little endoskeletals alone to do…whatever it is you do."

"Yeah?"

"Just something to think about."

"I've plenty to think about."

"Such as?"

"How much I hate you."

Barricade laughed. Hatred was a weapon that could so easily be turned on its wielder. "Me personally or us collectively?"

"Both."

The repair bots interrupted with a bleep. They were ready to return mobility to Ironhide's arms. Barricade nodded permission. "How about we talk about that while your arms cycle through their diagnostics?"

"How much I hate you? Not sure we'll have enough time."

"Make a good start, anyway."

"All right. You. You're a coward. You can't fight anyone your own size, so you pick on the small and weak. Like the humans."

"I was doing my job." More to winning a war than punching someone. Autobots should have learned that by now. "Some jobs I like less than others."

Ironhide waited, apparently expecting Barricade to respond more emotionally. "All right," he said, after a moment, "your buddy over there." One barely-responsive finger twitched toward Blackout's repair cradle. "Also a coward. Also picks on humans. Couldn't take me face-to-face."

"Picks on humans?" That didn't sound like Blackout. "Why do you care so much about the little meat sacks anyway?"

"I don't. Worthless and whiny, the lot of them. But I do care about a fair fight." He pitched his voice a little louder, guaranteeing Blackout would hear it. "Before we got here, you two, that's all you did. Ran around and kill humans."

Barricade looked confused. To his recollection, he'd only killed one of the damned things, when taking his alt mode. And Blackout, well, that didn't sound like him. Suddenly, it struck him. "Ah, the human military base."

"And others since."

"Got in our way. They don't get in yours?"

All the answer he needed flashed across Ironhide's face. Apparently the Autobot didn't think too much of his human allies, even the military ones.

Something to exploit later. But for now, he added, "Your arms should be online now."

Ironhide looked down at his arms, and ran through a simple series of movements. Testing them. "They seem to work all right," he said. "Control is slow, though."

"Our repair bots know their business. Sluggish control may be due to the sensor block."

"Why did you do this?" Ironhide lifted a hand.

"Any number of reasons. Mostly, because no one here is afraid of you. But also," he smirked, thinking of the histrionic language Starscream had used in his report, "medical aid was required."

"You're not going to convince me you're the good guys," Ironhide said, flatly. True, Barricade thought, but it was working wonders with Flareup. "Repairing what you broke in the first place doesn't make you civilized."

"We could have left you merely with stabilization. I believe Starscream enjoyed that hospitality for several solar cycles."

"Starscream. Pfuh."

"Don't think too much of him?"

"Does anyone?"

Barricade considered. He didn't mind Starscream. He could work with him. Work under him, as well, if need be. Starscream, unlike Megatron, was _manageable_. But if he could keep hatred of enemy going with Ironhide…. "Not really. Maybe Blackout."

Ironhide shot a look at Blackout, whose eyes had slitted open hearing his name. "Huh. He would."

"Starscream must have done something worse than beat up on humans to get this level of dislike from you." Good leading suggestion.

"Mmmph. Ignores humans, for the most part. Unless they are in his escape vector. But he always chooses the weakest target. There were five of us there at your stupid base. You know who he picked to attack? Girls. Two girls. Small."

Barricade kept his face blank. "He didn't tell me about this," he lied.

"Not surprised. Chickenshit and a liar. You listen to me, Con. He went after two female bots. If that's the grade of fuel in your second-in-command…."

"And while he was doing this, you were…?"

"Never mind that." Ironhide's fingers flexed into fists. Another point to file away. Ironhide tried to steer the conversation entirely away, "You going to give me my legs back?"

"They're right there," Barricade gestured at the Autobot's numb legs. "But yes, the repair bots, or vermin, as you call them in all of your Autobot sensitivity, will be more than happy to." And while they were at it, Barricade knew they'd be installing a few extra features. But that was his little secret for now.


	10. Chapter 10

Huh. Can't help but notice nobody's reading this thing. For the very very few (ummm, three of you) that are, could you please, honestly, be so kind as to tell me where you think I lost everyone else? What's every other author here doing right that I'm not doing? I'd honestly like to know.

X.

The only thing Chromia had said to Ratchet since the battle had been, "You didn't try hard enough." She was awake, she was responsive, she spoke to Prime, though her voice was softer than usual, but it was almost as if she couldn't even see Ratchet. Refused to see him, really. Ratchet accepted it, sitting numbly on the floor of the transport helicopter, staring at his useless hands. Why hadn't he taken the shot? Either shot: he was grateful no one knew about the chance he'd had to take out Blackout. Blackout, who had beaten Optimus into a mass of twisted plating, then blown him up. The collapsing rubble of the tower keep had done almost as much damage as the incendiary explosion. All of which could have been prevented, if Ratchet had acted. If he hadn't hesitated.

No one else knew. But Ratchet couldn't forget.

Optimus would recover completely, given time and enough work. But it would be slow and painful, and every minute of that pain, every minute of delay, would be Ratchet's doing. He wished he could take that pain for himself. He was the one who deserved it. He was the one who had hurt everyone at Bourzey—it was his fault Flareup was taken, his fault that Blackout had hurt so many others. His fault, even, that the little repair bot suicided.

And he had come through without a scratch on his paint.

What made it even worse (as if it could get any worse) was that it all came back to Starscream. He had been right. They had left him for days, doing nothing to treat his injuries. Nothing beyond the basic stabilization by the human engineers. And who knew, really, how gentle they were?

Ratchet had stabilized Chromia and Prime himself, hovering between the shift pallets they'd been laid on, to monitor for anything he could help. But after Chromia had overheard his short answer, "Taken," to Prime's question about the others, the silence had descended as if another stone wall had fallen on them.

He could hear them behind him, now, murmuring or moaning softly to each other. He just hoped Prime would be able to offer her some comfort.

Primus knew Ratchet couldn't.


	11. Chapter 11

The repair bots had shifted their attention to undenting Starscream's armor, particularly the ailerons. Prime had bent them, which had made the return trip…unnecessarily complex flying, always having to overcome the twist in his slipstream. His turbines had been damaged by the ridiculous governor Ratchet had installed, causing a loss of thrust, as well. All told, a miserable flying experience. The repair bots had reworked the netting on the repair cradle to access his engines. His new hand still gleamed too-newly, but it was responding well. He felt nothing more than an odd tingling—not at all like the excruciating pain of the metal shock he'd endured when his leg had been reattached. He ran a few dexterity tests with his new digits. It was all over. He could relax.

Except, of course, he couldn't. His cheekplates still overheated when he thought of how Megatron treated him, and in front of others. He could feel Blackout's respect for him ebbing, that he'd just taken it, not fought back. And Vortex…! Vortex was a walking cautionary tale of having the ambition beaten out of one: dully loyal to Megatron, as if he'd locked away the better part of his intellect behind some heavy armored door.

There had to be some median. Some line between facing Megatron's unending malicious rage and being a cowed, unquestioning semi-drone. But what it was—Starscream couldn't see it.

The door to the innermost room, the regen chamber, whooshed open, and repair bots ran, back feet first, into the room, moving a limp shape in red armor on a float. The head tilted over to one side, and Starscream could see the newcomer's eyes flicker with crafty recognition. Dead End: Just what he needed.

"You," Dead End said, struggling up on his elbow plates. "You owe me."

Starscream's eyes widened. "I owe you?" The words shattered into absurdity in the air.

"Both of you. You and the copter." Making matters worse, the repair bots lifted Dead End into the cradle nearest Starscream.

"Blackout is your superior: you will address him with respect."

Dead End turned sideways in his cradle, to face Starscream. "Fine. You and Blackout. If it weren't for me, the cycle bot would have finished you both."

"Amusingly improbable. Her weapon would never have penetrated armor at that range."

Dead End's face fell. Probably hadn't thought of it. What true warrior does not study the weapons of his enemies?

"Additionally," Starscream continued, "if we are to account for the saving of lives, I intervened when she had you on the ground. I saved your pathetic spark, if you must think that way. Blackout, as well, did not have to return you from the field of battle. He also, then, is 'owed' by you." Starscream's eyes narrowed. "If you insist on thinking in such unwarrior-like terms, you will never be a warrior."

Dead End's jaw snapped shut on his retort. Well, what could he say, thought Starscream. Best if he remain silent. Better still if his kind withdrew all pretense of being warriors. But right now Starscream would settle for Dead End shutting up.

He wouldn't even get that. "What about the drones," Dead End asked, finally.

"Drones are expendable."

Dead End muttered something that sounded vicious. Starscream's pride burned. He would not be spoken to this way, even sotto voce.

"Did you say something?" He did not even dignify Dead End with a name, not even an insulting one.

Dead End refused to meet his eyes. "No, Air Commander," he said, unevenly. "I said nothing."


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks to all of the people who have given me such positive feedback: I'm sorry if I sounded whiney.  It means a lot to know that people actually do enjoy a slightly, ummm, **darker** take on the Transformers.

XII.

Barricade returned to RB Beta, preoccupied. Ironhide had plenty of friction points. Easy to overheat. Breakable, definitely. But he had to break when and how Barricade wanted him to. That would be the trick of it. And to be honest, Barricade's pride was more than a little bruised from Ironhide's digs at him not being a good enough warrior. He was supposed to remain neutral, distant. He was supposed to take insult and praise with the same cold neutrality. And he thought he'd managed to make a good show of it. But inwardly, he seethed. All his life, he'd been fighting that attitude—that size and killing power were the only measures of worth, of respect. That, at his size, with his lighter frame that couldn't support the iridium-alloy armor of the heavier bots even if he'd wanted it to, he'd never be able to achieve. Bad enough to deal with it on his own side. Didn't really need that kind of supercilious attitude from the enemy.

Maybe he was just upset that Ironhide was simply saying what he knew his own comrades thought, that some sort of tact or thin camaraderie kept them from uttering. It seemed to be what everyone thought of him. Small. Weak. This despite years of him proving himself—tough enough, valuable enough, ruthless enough. Thankless and ugly job? Barricade will do it.

But important work, he corrected himself. He had trust: a different kind of respect than brute force. Starscream had trusted him to find the Witwicky boy. And now Megatron had also entrusted him to interrogate the prisoners.

Or maybe Megatron didn't trust him. Maybe this was a kind of test, of his abilities. Of his loyalties. Seeing how much things had changed under Starscream, Megatron was probably unsure how much had changed and how far.

Barricade heard a growl, realized a second later it was his own vocal processor. He drew himself up short. Stop, Barricade. Can handle this. Can do this. Prove everyone wrong in everything they've ever said about you. Know what you're doing. Trust yourself. Trust yourself even if no one else does.

He rounded the corner to RB Beta. The dronemaster waited outside the door, his charges lined up against the corridor walls, eyes dulled to recharge position. The effect was eerie—like walking along a hall of statues.

He nodded at the dronemaster. Trust yourself, he ordered himself. "How'd they do?"

"Did fine. Good experience for them."

"And she?"

The dronemaster rolled his eyes. "Treated them like fresh hatchlings. Had them singing at one point."

"Singing?"

The corner of the dronemaster's mouth twitched in distaste. "Some Autobot propaganda song. Chorus about peace and equality."

"I am," Barricade said, "so glad I missed that."

"I wish I had."

"Anything else to report?"

The dronemaster shook his head. "Have to say it was interesting seeing one of the females."

"What you expected?"

"Wasn't sure what to expect. Wonder what they use them for."

Barricade shrugged. "Not even sure they know."

"The drones sure liked her, though. Instantaneous. You saw them. Normally they're a little standoffish." True. Barricade had noticed that, but hadn't realized it was significant. He nodded. "Anyway," the dronemaster continued, "I have to get these back for routine maintenance." He raised his voice slightly, "Batch 17324, awake." Two dozen pairs of eyes flickered on. The dronemaster began shooing them forward. One of them, maybe two, began beeping a flat melody. The dronemaster shot a pained look over his shoulder at Barricade. "If you're nice, maybe she'll teach you that song." He winked.

"I cannot restrain my anticipation."


	13. Chapter 13

Longish section this time: things pick up after this bit, but I needed to set up some stuff first. (That's my pathetic way of saying, yeah, I know this bit is slow, but please give me a couple of chapters' more chance!)

XIII.

Barricade had had to listen to Flareup gush about the drones for the better part of forever, it felt like. Enough that his mandible joints ached from holding that entirely insincere smile. The strategy to show her the young and harmless had worked, better than he had thought. Better than he'd wanted, as he was now discovering.

"I can't believe you send those poor things into battle," she said, and then drew back, as if realizing that her words could be offensive.

"We would prefer not to, of course." True enough. So much waste. But while she was thinking waste of potential, he was thinking waste of resources. Time to turn this conversation onto another topic. Any other topic. "How about you?"

"Me?"

"It seems unfair to send someone like you into battle as well."

Her lips thinned. "What do you mean by that?"

"You are, undoubtedly, smaller than the other bots. You are smaller than I am. Surely that puts you at a disadvantage? Speaking tactically, that is."

Her face stayed closed off. "That's what they all say."

Slag. He'd blown this. Have to scramble back to safer ground. What you get for changing the subject so blindly. When in doubt, especially with sensitive Autobots, apologize. "Please forgive me," he said. "I have no experience with you females. I did not mean to offend. I simply don't know."

Her mouth softened, and her shoulders released, marginally, from their defensive clench. If nothing else, he'd discovered her sore spot. But he wasn't trying to run hostile approaches on her. At least not yet. "I guess I understand. I overreacted. I just get tired of hearing the same stuff over and over again like that. I am sorry."

Dear sweet Well of Sparks, now she was apologizing to him. These Autobots were clearly insane. How they ever managed to get anything done with all this fretting over everyone else and their feelings, he'd never know. He shrugged, only partially masking his discomfort.

"I hear it all the time—we all do, Chromia and Arcee and me. That we're not big enough. Not tough enough. It just gets kind of frustrating. No matter how hard we try. No matter how many battles we've proven ourselves in, they always treat us like we're going to shake apart at the first salvo."

Barricade hated to admit it, but he could relate to most of that. "Know what that's like," he said. He drew himself up short. Had she picked up on the change in the tone of his voice, from the silky tone he normally used with her?

"You do?" Unexpected tactic here. Similarity.

"Yeah." She tilted her head, waiting for him to say more. He shifted his weight, uncomfortably. "Surely you've noticed," he said, in his more in-control voice, "that I'm not the biggest Decepticon you've ever seen. Size means everything here." Not necessarily everything, but Barricade had certainly had to fight a lot harder, and with less overt weapons, than the big bots. "Frustrating, because I know there are things I do better than they do."

"Yes!" she said, tilting forward in the repair cradle. "Exactly. We can go places the big ones can't go. Even Bumblebee. I can go places too small for him to fit. And my sisters and I—" She cut herself off.

Barricade let that slide. If he showed too much interest in the sister thing, especially after she'd shut him down asking about this Chromia, he'd put her back on guard. He merely nodded. Time to try to wedge the love of comrades a bit wider open. "Surely in your case they're just protective of their females?"

She frowned, but this time Barricade could tell it was not directed at him. "No right to. Honestly. We've lost a lot in this war ourselves. It's wrong that we can't be allowed to fight just as hard for it."

"Freedom, right?"

"And equality." Her mouth had a bitter twist on one side. "If we don't fight, they treat us different. Like we haven't given enough or suffered as much as they have. Or weren't brave enough. I may be small: I may break a little easier than some of the others. But I am not weak." She sounded angry, as if she were arguing with someone.

"I hear you took on Starscream, all by yourself. Don't think anyone with any sense would call you a coward."

She ducked her eyes. "That, uh…that didn't go so well."

"Doesn't matter how it went. Matter that you tried. He's probably four or five times your mass." Honestly, he thought a tiny bot like her going after Starscream was either latent suicide or something so stupid even a drone would know better, but, well, what was that expression about the line between bravery and stupidity?

"You think so? Really?" Barricade felt a glow of gratification—she was turning to him for validation. This was agonizingly slow, but he was winning her.

"Really. I wouldn't take him on." At least not that way. There were easier ways to handle Starscream.

"I wouldn't have, but he'd hurt Chromia. I had to do something." Ah, that sounded stupid and Autobot enough.

"Your sister had also gone up against him alone?"

"Yes. She's not afraid of anything," Flareup said with some pride.

"I imagine not much scares you, either."

"Oh that's not true at all!" She laughed. It was a startling sound. "You saw me with those little repair bots."

"You're not afraid of them, now, though."

"Oh no! Not the drones, either. Those poor things." Oh great. He sensed the conversation turning back to the alleged cuteness of drones. He wasn't sure he could endure any more of that. Time to derail this train of thought.

"So I suspect you're even braver than those bigger bots. Many of them would probably still be afraid of them."

She sighed. "So much fear. So much hatred. All spent on what we don't understand. It makes me sad." Barricade's circuits jumped. Hatred of enemies down, almost down to zero. He bet if he gave her a loaded weapon right now she wouldn't even point it at him. Time to lay this line further. Risky. But he had a feeling it might pay off.

"Can I tell you something?" She nodded. "We don't like it either. If we weren't so short of energon…." He let the thought trail off.

"Short?"

"We fight with everything we can—even dragging the drones into it, as you said—because we need to win. We are starving to death. Slowly, but it's happening." A slight overstatement of reality. But she seemed to be a sucker for the sympathy ploy.

"Really?"

"Why do you think it is so dark in here? Takes less energy. And running our optics at lowlight takes less of our charge." All things, Barricade suddenly realized, that Starscream had put in place during his leadership. On the long hunt, he'd threatened them repeatedly with rationing, worrying loudly about running into a point of desperation. Protocols they had kept in place even after Megatron's return. Maybe Starscream wasn't as much of an idiot as Barricade had thought. No, correct that: maybe he wasn't as bad a leader. Leaders could still be idiots. Just on a larger or smaller scale.

"I-I didn't know that."

"We try very hard to keep that quiet. You can imagine why."

"Is it really that bad?"

"An unacceptable number of hatchlings go straight into reprocessing." All too true.

She looked shocked and saddened. "That's horrible."

Hoping you'd think that, he thought. "Where do you get your energon?" he asked, switching to direct question.

"Ours? I don't know. The humans are working on ways to refine some of the low-grade stuff we can find. It's not very strong, but it's better than nothing."

"The humans have discovered this way?" That was a surprise. Barricade didn't figure the humans would be smart enough to discover their way out of a dark tunnel.

"It would be enough to help the hatchlings, I suspect," he said. Push the hatchlings. Sympathy works on her. Widen that crack. "But stronger would be better."

"They say there are some good surface sites, but I don't know where they are." She looked genuinely apologetic.

Barricade bit back a curse. She was telling the truth. If she knew, she'd be blabbing all of it. For the stupid drones and hatchlings. She was, for that purpose, his primary purpose, useless. A pointless break. Damn.


	14. Chapter 14

Thank you to all of the wonderful people who have been leaving such positive reviews. I hope you won't regret it by story's end.

XIV.

Blackout braced himself. On three, he thought. You can do this. You can master this. On three. One. Two. _Three_. He launched himself backwards, slamming his rotor mount hard into the bulkhead of the ship's hangar. His optics went white, red, and black from the sudden overload of his pain sensors. He collapsed to his knees, his greave-armor gouging the metal floor. Slag. Blacked out again. Ironic, isn't it? Blackout blacking out. Not funny, he told himself. Weak. That's what you are. A little pain taking you down. Taking you out of the battle. Holding you back.

He pushed heavily to his feet. His ankle stabilizers wobbled a bit, as if something were interfering with their gyros. He muttered a string of curses. He would overcome this. He would not succumb to mere pain. He wouldn't.

He flared the rotors from the mount, wincing. Can't even handle that much, he snorted. How does Starscream do it? How does he manage pain so well that he invites more and more of it?

He reached back and yanked on one of his intact rotors, hard. He heard himself grunt. Can handle this, he told himself. Just a bit more. Sooner or later I'll have taken so much I won't feel it. That must be how Starscream did it. Just took so much of it that one day it didn't even register. Keep it up. The next one, the next time will put you over that threshold into numbness.

Right. The next time. On three. One. Two.

"Am I interrupting something?" The voice came out of the darkness. Blackout flinched. He hadn't heard anyone come in. Not even the door. Pain was weakening his senses.

"No," he said, straightening up, hastily. "What are you doing here, Vortex?"

"Nothing much. I heard a noise and just wanted to check it out." Vortex's face was a blank mask. "You have any idea what that noise might have been?"

You know damn well what it was, Blackout thought. "No idea."

"Hrm." Vortex stepped further into the room, making a show of looking around. But Blackout could feel that even behind the visor, Vortex's eyes were always on him. "Maybe happened when you were sensor-locked from the pain of throwing yourself against the wall."

Blackout glared at him. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"For the record, Blackout," Vortex said, "'Big dumb guy' doesn't work on me. Never has. Big dumb guy myself, you know."

Blackout's rotors flared in irritation, involuntarily. He winced.

Vortex stepped closer, folding his arms over his chest. "Going to have to report this if you don't tell me what's going on," he said.

"Nothing's going on!"

Vortex looked at him, a little sadly. "Not true."

Blackout balled his hands into fists. "Leave me alone."

"Leave yourself alone." Vortex reached out and brushed one of Blackout's rotor blades. "I'm the only one other than you that has any idea how much that hurts, you know."

"Doesn't hurt," Blackout spat.

"Really." Vortex twisted the rotor blade deftly, turning it in its socket mount. New pain lanced through Blackout's entire sensor net. His knee servos faltered.

Blackout gasped. "Let go of me," he snarled.

"When you tell me what you think you're trying to accomplish, I will."

Blackout tried to twist out of the other bot's grip, but only succeeded in blanking his optics from the pain. He came back to his senses, gasping. Vortex still held the rotor blade in one hand. Blackout could feel the blade's infected heat throb in Vortex's grasp.

"Answer?"

"Go slag yourself."

"Not good enough. Do you think I want to do," he paused, twisting the blade in its socket again, "this again?"

Blackout writhed. "Let go," he pleaded, hating the thinness of his voice. He tried, and failed, to sound angry. He sounded, in reality, pathetic.

"Why should I? Isn't this what you want? You want pain, don't you? Pain from me not good enough?" He wobbled the rotorblade in the socket. Blackout froze, afraid to move. "Why you want pain so much, Blackout?" His eyes behind his visor were hard on Blackout's for a long moment. Then, his gaze softened. He released the blade gently, laying it back in position. "What's going on?"

"Have to get over it," Blackout muttered. "Everyone else can take it. I can, too."

"Not a big fan of it, myself." Vortex's eyes weighed on Blackout.

"Yeah, that's why—" Blackout cut himself short.

"That's why you think it's important, huh? Weak old Vortex—don't want to end up like him, do we?" His voice took on a hard edge that made Blackout drop his eyes. "Right. The big masochists are in now, is that what you think? That's how you're going to make it?"

"I have to. I have to do…something." Blackout felt stupid.

"You want to do something?" Vortex stepped in closer, so close Blackout could see his optics through his visor. "Try finding your self-respect. More to being a warrior than taking pain. It's about what you won't take, too." He stepped back. "Think this is such a big deal, do you?" He reached over his shoulder and grabbed one of his own rotor blades, tearing it out of the socket with a shower of sparks and hydraulic fluid. His eyes never left Blackout's face. "Doesn't make any difference at all. Neat trick, though, destroying yourself." He threw the blade on the ground at Blackout's feet, where it rang against the floorplates. "Sure the enemy appreciates it."


	15. Chapter 15

From here, like it or not, Barricade more or less takes over the story. Megatron is pulling two techniques on Barricade here that are normally used by police—open window and ticking clock. Yeah, I know that Barricade's the interrogator, but I got carried away.

XV.

"You disappoint me," Megatron said, coolly. As if he had expected it all along. It was that resigned tone that really bit at Barricade.

"Non-invasive intelligence work is often slow," he said, defensively. Sounded like an excuse. Was an excuse. Damn. He knew better than to fall into this pattern.

"Then go invasive."

Hold your line, he told himself. This is your area of expertise. Don't make excuses. Don't let him get one-up on you. "Would ruin any secondary value of the source. You know invasive techniques cause permanent damage."

"I am less concerned with the putative 'secondary value' of these sources than unconvinced that they have any primary value." Megatron slouched in his chair, his fingers keying the various shipboard monitors idly. "I am even less concerned with damage."

"It will pay off." Right now, he just didn't see how. If he had a moment to sit and think, he was sure he could come up with something. Sure of it.

"Worthless," Megatron muttered.

"They're not worthless. We can always negotiate, barter for them."

"Starscream and Blackout: Worthless. Could have, should have killed the Autobots while they had a chance. Turns out—you know, of course?—that they didn't even verify the death of Prime. That means, of course, he is not dead." He tapped his neck and chest, in what Barricade recognized as a classic self-soothing gesture. Megatron was, for Barricade at least, trying to calm himself down. No doubt if it were Starscream he were talking to, the jet would be on the floor fending off kicks. "Instead, they bring me these…captives." His mouth pinched in disgust.

"Starscream has good battle instincts," Barricade said. Immediate regret. Should have known better. Damn. He was getting tired, and slipping up. Bouncing between the two Autobots, having to keep his persona up, was taking its toll. He waited for Megatron to explode, bracing himself for a blow. Unlike the jet, whose heavy frame and armor kept his vital parts protected, Barricade would get hurt. Seriously.

Instead: "Really," Megatron said, his voice sweet and poisonous as oleander. "You think he is a better leader than I am?"

"Course not," Barricade said quickly. "Being good on the battlefield is not the same as being a leader. He knows his place."

"Does he?" Megatron sounded evenly split between setting Barricade up and honestly asking.

"You remind him often enough," Barricade said, defiantly, raising his eyes to Megatron. If he was going to take a hit, let him take it honestly.

Instead, Megatron smiled, as if remembering something entertaining. "Yes, I do." Then he turned his attention back to Barricade's preliminary report. "But this. This is taking too long. You have made what progress?"

"The female knows nothing."

Megatron made a non-committal sound. "While you waste your time on all of this talking, hatchlings are dying. Drones are delayed in development due to energon starvation. Bots are dying, and you're…what? Having some sort of show and tell with the bot?" He tapped the report display on one of the screens.

"I know that." He dropped his eyes.

"We need actionable intelligence, Barricade. We need it now. None of this promise for a future payoff. Without energon, we do not have a future." He punctuated the last sentence with stabs into the air between them.

"The bot is still useful. She has enormous psyops potential—"

Megatron cut him off with a chop of his hand. "Never mind that. I do not want to hear about your pet propaganda projects right now, Barricade. There is one way to win, and that is to destroy the enemy."

Barricade bit on his lower labial plate. This tiresome philosphy. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, "Not true. All you big bots think alike—physical damage isn't the end of the story. Look at Starscream. You beat the coolant out of him five times a megacycle. If beating him physically worked, wouldn't need to do that. Bots self-repair. Physical damage heals. Pain eventually fades. And then even the memory of it. Even the history of the humans shows it: Who wins? Guy who killed the most other guys or the guy who broke the most other souls?" Slipping. Again.

"And that's what you think you can do for me."

"Don't think it. Know it."

Megatron grunted, leaning back in his chair, his eyes distant. Considering. Not many bots had the courage (or stupidity, there was that blurred line again) to disagree with Megatron to his face. "All right," he said, finally. "I shall give you a chance to prove your little theory, and cash in those promises your insolence just made. One chance. The other Autobot. Bring me something useful from him. In the next cycle."

His capacitor upticked in alarm. "I need more time."

"We don't have more time, Barricade. Within the next cycle. Or we will evaluate your current position and resource allocations."

Barricade's capacitor clutched. One cycle? This was insanity. There was no way. He could break Ironhide, in that time, but not in any way that would yield what Megatron wanted. How to get actionable intelligence? In the next cycle? Barricade could feel all he'd worked for—all of those megacycles of fighting and pushing—blow away like so much dust.

And this is how it ends, he thought. All that work. All you've worked for. All you've pushed yourself through. Barricade was under no illusion that Megatron's time limit was entirely arbitrary. He didn't stoop to strike Barricade. So much easier to make Barricade hurt himself.

"Yes, my lord," he said, through clenched teeth. For the first time, he thought he understood how Starscream felt.


	16. Chapter 16

XVI.

Barricade raced aimlessly through the ship's corridors, as if hoping he'd trip over the solution to breaking Ironhide within a cycle. All the while, his precious cycle was slipping away. His capacitors fluttered with anxiety. How in the name of the Allspark was he going to manage that? He could get Ironhide to blurt out something, but that wouldn't be good enough. For Megatron, he'd have to get something solid. And big. Otherwise…everything he'd done, everything he'd worked for: Gone.

He buzzed Soundwave, who was in terrestrial orbit, doing what he did best.

"Barricade," Soundwave said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Need to know where Starscream is right now."

"You could simply have buzzed him."

"Don't want to deal with his games right now." He had a feeling Soundwave would understand.

"Indeed. Signals show that Starscream is in RB Gamma, ambulatory."

Still in Repair Bay? That was…odd. Or…how long had it been? Barricade frowned: he was losing track of time. "Thanks," Barricade said.

"I hear you are in charge of the captives," Soundwave said. Probing for information on his own. In his own, unsubtle way. He really was best suited for crypto.

"Not going so well," Barricade answered the unasked question. "May need you to come in for an invasive."

"That would be…most inconvenient."

"Yeah, I know." Not to mention an admission of defeat by Barricade. Damned if he'd let that happen. "Last resort, obviously. Be ready if I need you?"

"Certainly," Soundwave said, blandly. Someone with any social skills or even with a pretend set (like Barricade) would have wished him luck, but Soundwave merely signed off.

Barricade only had half a plan—a recycled plan, at that—in his head when he entered RB Gamma. Starscream stood by a workstation, his new hand splayed out.

"Didn't expect to find you here," Barricade said. "Thought you warriors healed yourselves faster than this." Get on top of him before he has a chance.

"I am," Starscream said, tightly, "getting essential laminates to my replacement hand." He flexed his fingers. Barricade could see the black heat-blocking primer, still glossy-wet. "Since you do not look in need of any repairs yourself, I cannot imagine why you would be here unless to engage me in some entirely worthwhile," he rolled his eyes, "conversation. So let us jump to that: And the point of this conversation is…?" All right, Barricade thought. So he'd come in bleeding anxiety, and even self-absorbed Starscream had picked up on it. He needed to get his head straight, or he'd blow everything. When it really mattered.

"Asked you a while back if you'd do some intimidation to the cyclebot."

"And I gave you my answer then, I believe. Or is stress," Starscream smirked, "frying your memory?"

"You said you wouldn't hit her."

"Yes. I will not. She may be only a pretend warrior, but I will treat her as a warrior in surrender, even as I did in combat." Barricade wanted to shove those smug words down Starscream's throat until his pistons locked. Instead, he nodded blandly.

"All I'm asking for is a prisoner movement. Just be a little surly. Should be easy for you." Couldn't help the hint of a return catty grin.

Starscream tilted his head, considering. "I will not have to strike her?"

"No. You might ad lib some creative insults—or is that against your warrior code as well?"

"I might manage that." Barricade caught the gleam in Starscream's eye. He was trying to goad Barricade, make him suffer for insulting him earlier. Wrong bot, Barricade thought. Wrong bot, wrong day, wrong mood.

"I'd like you to manage that. And after you're done," he said, his voice taking on the silky tone of his interrogation persona, "I should like to discuss with you the human."

"What human?" Trying to sound nonchalant. Failing. Barricade caught the telltale flicker of Starscream's eyes.

"The linguist human you were captive with. Most curiously, I'd like to discuss why you went to such lengths not to kill her."

Starscream's face fell slack. Then tightened. He was angry, but dared not show it. "I will move your prisoner," he said, harshly. "And that will be the end of it."

"Trying to withhold intelligence from me, Starscream?"

"It is…entirely irrelevant."

"Your qualification to make that judgment?"

Starscream lunged at the smaller bot, his good hand seizing around Barricade's throat. "This," he said, coldly, "is my qualification." The repair bots who had been plate-laminating his new hand clicked and squeaked, and scrambled after him.

Starscream's talons were cold against Barricade's neck cabling. He could feel the talons like long sharp lines of ice. The barbs that projected from his joints gleamed evilly in front of Barricade's face. All right, Barricade said to himself, calm down. Found Starscream's edge, that's all. Wasn't trying to, but found it anyway. Talked your way into this; can talk your way out of it. He needed the jet's compliance, as well. Couldn't just talk his way out and bolt—he needed Starscream to go along with his sketchy-enough-as-it-was plan. Easiest to put on the terrified act. Let Starscream think he'd scared the lubricant out of him. But… That rankled. Short term fix at best, Barricade told himself. Long term disaster. So. What to do now, intel-bot?

He forced a shaky smile on his face. "Impressive qualifications," he said. "Especially the ones near my eyes."

"Wanted to make sure you could see them clearly," Starscream said, but he straightened up from his attack lunge. "Human is off-limits," he added.

Barricade touched one of the long talons, gently prying it off his throat. "Conditionally."

The jet's talons tightened. "Brave little droneling, aren't you?" But one thing Starscream respected, even if against his will, was bravery.

"Prisoner move," Barricade said. Starscream flexed his talons, the barbs driving so close to Barricade's eyes that one of them caught on the protective bars. The jet stared at him for a long moment, his own optics spiralling in some emotion Barricade couldn't quite read. Probably because the jet was compressing one of his processing cables.

"Fine," the jet said, churlishly. "I will move your prisoner."

"Need you to stay to watch."

"Watch? No. I will not condone whatever…spectacle you plan to perform. I move the prisoner and I am done. And we are done with each other."

"Need someone there in case he goes a little too far."

"He?"

"Dead End."

Starscream released his grip on Barricade's throat, but dragged his claws over the smaller bot's shoulder and down his chassis, leaving long scores that peeled paint and lifted thin spirals of metal. Barricade hissed in pain.

A repair bot jumped on him, its delicate feet ready to repair. "Ignore," barked Starscream. "A warning for you, Barricade: Do not push me too far. I hope this helps you remember it."


	17. Chapter 17

AN: Okay, most of us like to feel that we're nice people, right? Good, decent, really just…nice people. So what do you do when you know you have to go in and just be completely mentally brutal to someone? What do you do when you know you're going to have to change approaches on a dime, lie, and just generally be a bastard? Every interrogator comes up with his or her own ritual to help cope with this. One guy I knew would stare at a mirror until he couldn't see his face any more. Another would repeat "I'm Marlon f***ing Brando" over and over again, bouncing like a prize fighter waiting to get into the ring. And me? Well, this is probably disgusting self-insertion, but mine…is the last paragraph of this chapter.

XVII.

Everything was in place. Everything Barricade could think of. He swept a hand up his face, as if to wipe away exhaustion. Starscream's scratches still burned across his frame. Had he thought of everything? What had he missed? He was tired. He was starting to lose control. Question himself. He'd let Ironhide get under his plating. He'd slipped in front of Megatron. He was bleeding emotion so obviously that Starscream picked up on it. Just a little longer. If he could keep it together for just a little longer….

His comm buzzed. He looked at it wearily before he tapped it on. Blackout. "Yes."

"Ironhide's in place." Blackout's voice was subvocal. Ironhide couldn't overhear either end.

Barricade dropped to subvoc too. "Be down in a klik."

"Starscream's still waiting."

"Yeah?"

"Nothing. He keeps reminding me of that."

"Thanks for passing it on." So Starscream had been comm-ing Blackout, instead of Barricade. Interesting. If only Barricade had the extra processing speed to cope with that right now.

"You…doing okay?" Blackout's voice sounded strange. Barricade stiffened. Even Blackout was picking up on his lack of control.

"Fine," he said sharply. Primus he couldn't even keep control in this exchange. A tired anger prickled in his throat. He wanted to push back, to get in control of at least this. He should be able to control a simple conversation. With an ally. He snapped back, "Get that rotor fixed yet?"

"It's…better now."

"Going to see it in half a klik," Barricade said, pushing himself up. Time to head to the hangar. He'd set things up as best he could. Sitting around fretting wouldn't make him any more prepared. Would wear away at what little mental edge he still had left.

"Not repaired yet," Blackout mumbled, resentful.

Barricade paused, punching up the RB stats. Blackout's new rotor blinked, greenlit and ready for installation. "Talk about that later, you and I." He cut the comm.

One more thing he didn't want to deal with right now. He could almost feel a pressure like a band across his head, just over his optics. He caught himself touching his head to make sure there wasn't one there. He paused, doing a full cycle ventilation. And buzzed Starscream. "Hear you're impatient," he said, cutting off Starscream's inevitable huffy complaint.

"I have better demands for my time. And I should like to put this disgusting business behind me."

Barricade let it pass, even though a dozen nasty responses bubbled up in his mind. Don't bleed any more emotion, he told himself, throttling down on his temper. You can't afford to slip. Not now. "Ready to go?"

"Stupid question." Starscream couldn't mask emotion from a protoform.

Barricade laughed. The pressure that had felt like it was crushing his head evaporated. "I like you, Starscream," he said. "Honestly."

Silence. "And that is significant to me how?"

"Save some of that charm for the cycle bot," he retorted. The exhaustion washed back through him. He knew he'd have to pay for that slip, too. But he wasn't done with the jet. Not by a long shot.

Starscream muttered something obscene as he cut the comm. Barricade heard himself laughing. He couldn't tell any longer if it was genuine or an act put on to fake out the jet.

He paused outside the hangar control room, the laugh withering. Time. This worked, or it was all over. He'd blow so many approaches pulling this there would be no going back. Nothing to salvage. But it was the only thing that had a chance to work in the time he had left. It would either break the Autobot, or break Barricade.

He rested his hand on the doorway. Ventilated another full cycle. He shuttered his optics. You, he told himself, are an image. An illusion. You are not me. This is all an act. A mask. A show. This does not define me. This is not who I am. This is not what I do. This is necessary. Necessary. You can break him. You need to break him. Break him. This is necessary. This is not me. This is not who I am. This is necessary.


	18. Chapter 18

XVIII.

Either Blackout had some good instincts, or it was a good omen that he was standing blocking the Autobot's view of the door. Barricade had time to watch the Autobot respond to hearing his step, gauge his reaction.

He looked up at Blackout as he walked by him. The broken rotor was weeping red-black corrosion from the rotor mount, and the engine itself had its paint newly scarred and chipped. "You've looked better, Blackout," he said.

The copter took in the silver-bright scores of Starscream's claws across Barricade's chest plates. "Could say the same about you."

"Give you any trouble?" He jerked his head toward Ironhide who stood glaring at him. Behind the Autobot, a repair bot hung on a shelf, clicking to itself. Its primitive optics darted between Blackout and Barricade, its smallest set of limbs rubbing against each other, agitated.

"Nothing I can't handle."

Barricade turned the Autobot. "And how are you doing? Repair bots—oh, I'm sorry, vermin—treat you well?"

Ironhide's upper labial plate lifted up in a snarl. "That's what this is, isn't it?"

"What what is?"

"Don't think I'm stupid, Decepticon runt." Barricade felt himself stiffen. Forced himself to calm down. "You and the stupid one," Ironhide gestured at Blackout, who growled back, "think you can take me. Two on one. Decepticon odds."

"Sorry to disappoint you. Blackout is merely here to make sure you behave civilly. In other words, unlike an Autobot." Ironhide's look was disbelieving. "Besides," Barricade added, "We are both injured. Surely were we to do it right, this 'Decepticon odds' thing, we would want to be at our best."

"So, why did you bring me here?" Ironhide was desperate to pick a fight. If he were ready for it, Barricade didn't want to oblige. Didn't mean he had to be nice about it: just not respond to the aggression in kind.

"First, because we were tired of Autobots cluttering up our repair bay. Second, because we thought you might appreciate a change of scene."

Ironhide looked around the small windowless room sarcastically. "Oh, much better. The view here is amazing."

"Third," Barricade continued, "At some point, like now, we should have a conversation. About your future." To his mind, Ironhide didn't have a future—either he broke for Barricade, or got himself shattered by Soundwave's invasive probe. But no need to mention that. Yet.

"My future."

"Yes. Your thoughts?"

"My thoughts? You should—" Ironhide let loose a string of profanities that made the repair bot shrink back against the wall.

Barricade laughed. "I'm not even sure how that's physically possible." Blackout rumbled behind him, somewhere between a laugh and a threat to Ironhide. "But I did say your future."

"I'm not going to play your little guessing game, Barricade. Not going to say something so you can smugly laugh in my face and tell me that 'you're sorry' but you just don't see that happening."

Release, Barricade thought. Approach isn't working. Don't force it. Just release it, let it go. Divert to something else. This is not me. This is not who I am. "Oh, does that make you angry when I do that?" Barricade pushed closer. Lean in, he told himself. Harder. Go harder. Break him. You have to. Just words. That's all. Just words. Do it. "You like getting angry, don't you? Does it make you feel powerful?" he goaded, his voice hardening. "Does it make you feel brave? Or," he paused, "Does it make you feel you can finally unleash that violence you have inside you?"

Ironhide flinched. Barricade felt his ventilation catch. Push. Harder.

"That's it, isn't it? You can finally let it out. Be as vicious as you want. Be as brutal as you can. Be as violent as us. Blackout's right, you know. Deep down, you're one of us."

He didn't see the first hit coming—just a flash of movement and then his head was flying sideways, jerking his body along after it, slamming into the wall. His aural capacitors rang from the impact just as his sensor net registered the second hit, a follow-up hook that bent his left arm's quarterpanel with a squeal of metal. And then, the pain hit. He gritted his dental plates and forced himself to get to his feet. Crack, he told himself. That was a crack. That was not a failure. That was progress.

It didn't feel like progress.

His audio receptors came back online to another stream of curses from the Autobot. Blackout had pinned the bot on its belly, one of his large pedes spread over the bot's smaller pelvic frame, toe plates digging in. He held both of the Autobot's arms in one hand, up behind the bot's back, straining at their sockets.

"Problem with anger," Barricade gasped, "You lose control so easily."

Ironhide ground his dental plates together. Barricade risked a touch to his face—a few of the plates tingled as if cracked. The repair bot on the shelf whined, pawing the air toward him. Can't afford that right now, Barricade thought. Have to keep going, before he catches control of himself. Worry about that later. Later. Now….

He bent down, grabbing Ironhide's head roughly. "Fine," he hissed. "You don't want any 'little games'? No more games. Where is the energon?"

"Go slag yourself," Ironhide spat.

Barricade backhanded the Autobot. "That,' he said, coldly, "was to remind you of your manners. Pay attention, please."

He stepped back, signalling to Blackout to haul the Autobot to his feet. Blackout stepped back off the Autobot's spine, hauling Ironhide up by the wrists. The Autobot grunted, nearly bent double by the pressure on his shoulder sockets.

"I said," This is not me, this is not who I am, "Are you paying attention?" He slapped Ironhide with an open palm, ringing against the Autobot's audio receptors.

Ironhide glared up at him, "Yeah."

"Energon. Terrestrial sources. Where."

"Gonna take more than that."

Barricade snarled. "I have more than that." He heard his heat sinks kick on. Release, he told himself. Let it go. "All we want," he said, "is the energon. Think about it. We're done. There's nothing left on Earth for us. We want to go home."

"Tails between your legs like Earth dogs."

Barricade's search protocol brought him the reference. He bit his labial plating again. "If you like."

Ironhide stared him down. Tried to. Barricade settled himself on a workstation, folding his arms over his chest. Ironhide thinking he could run silence on Barricade. Didn't know Barricade very well. "Can do this all day, Decepticon," Ironhide growled.

"Except you just didn't," Barricade said, recognizing with relief the tone of his cool interrogator's voice. "You don't want to talk about the energon. Fine. Let's talk about something else. Like, what's going to happen to you?"

"Don't know; don't care." Release. Try again.

"Heard anything from Cybertron recently?" Grasping, now, and he felt it. Stop. Release. Try again. This is not me. This is not who I am.

"Right. Like I'd tell you."

Barricade shifted on the workstation. All right. Do it. Can. Have to. "Meaning, no." A fierce flicker of enjoyment as the look of horror crossed Ironhide's face.

"Liked you better playing games."

Barricade leaned forward. "I was hoping you'd say that. I have one more for you." He jerked his chin up at Blackout, still holding Ironhide. Blackout wheeled around, turning Ironhide to face the blank wall.

"Supposed to be scared?" Ironhide said, fixing his gaze on the wall. "Can't see you coming and all?"

"No." Barricade levered himself off the workstation, hitting one of the controllers on the wall controls. The wall in front of Ironhide faded to transparency revealing the small hangar below. Blackout released Ironhide's arms with a final warning squeeze. "Supposed to watch."


	19. Chapter 19

XIX.

Barricade comm'd Starscream. "You ready?"

"I have been ready for some time now." He recognized the timbre of subvoc. Starscream, whatever bad might be said about him, was not one to make careless errors like having the enemy overhear him.

"Bring her."

"As you wish," the jet said acidly into his comm.

A moment later, just as Ironhide was beginning to shuffle his feet and (Barricade could tell) try and work out some way to attack Blackout, the shipside door to the hangar bay opened.

Starscream dragged the small purple bot with all the ill grace and ill-temper Barricade could wish. Unable to manage his larger strides, Flareup skidded along on her tire beside him. He swung her in an arc, planting her in front of him. "She is here." Starscream announced. "I have done what you asked."

Ironhide's ventilation caught as he saw the cycle bot. He shot a poisonous glare at Barricade. "Had her all along, have you?"

Barricade paused the comm. "Of course."

"Could have told me."

Barricade shrugged, lightly. "You hold out on me, I hold out on you….it's how it goes." He tapped the comm again. "Hold her."

"I refuse."

"Hold her." More insistent.

"This was not part of our agreement, Barricade." The jet looked up to the wall. The wall was still blanked from hangarside, but Barricade felt like Starscream could see right through it. Possibly could. Seekers always did get better optical upgrades than anyone else.

"I don't have time for this. Hold her. Do it. NOW."

Flareup struggled against Starscream's grasp of her wrist. He idly grabbed her by her foot-tire and dangled her upside down. Her arms swatted the air, but too far from Starscream's side to make contact. "You do not know what you are asking of me," the jet said, more quietly. Not afraid of being overheard: afraid of admitting it.

"Do you think this is easy for me?!" Barricade's voice cracked, even through subvoc. He felt his facial plates burn and a cold seep from his cracked plating. Get in control. Back in control. Just an approach. You can do it. "I'm sor—" Starscream cut the comm on him, but flipped the cycle bot over deftly, catching her under the arm sockets. He gripped his hands around her shoulder joints, twisting the fingers so that the barbs locked into one another. He glared up at the blanked window wall. In his grip. Flareup twisted. She spun her tire. He merely lifted her off the ground.

Ironhide hadn't noticed Barricade's distracted lapse—he was boiling with rage watching Starscream's cavalier treatment of the cycle bot. His hands balled into fists. Blackout edged nearer. Barricade shook his head. He'd take another hit, if that's what it took. Deserved it. The idea seemed good in his mind, but seeing it now start to play out, it made him more than uncomfortable. Your imagination. Your plan. No, he told himself. Gotten too close with the cycle bot. All that friendly-up you were running on her. Lost your perspective. Lost your distance. That is not who you are, either.

"What are you going to do with her?" Ironhide choked out.

This is not me, this is not who I am. This is a mask. This is a game. This isn't real. This isn't happening. Harder. Thisisnotme. Do it. "I? Nothing. It's what you are going to do."


	20. Chapter 20

Notes after.

XX.

Dead End made no impression on Ironhide—probably didn't even remember the short, red Decepticon—until he stormed across the hangar floor and struck Flareup with all the force he could get behind his arm's armored fairing. Flareup's head snapped to the side, striking Starscream's hand just where the gun barrels ended.

Next to Barricade, Ironhide sucked in air, hard.

Dead End followed that up with a solid punch to Flareup's midsection, denting armor. She squealed, twisting in the jet's grip, her tire spinning for traction. Her own arms clawed feebly at the air, held too far apart by Starscream to do her any good.

"Why are you—" she cried out before the smaller Decepticon struck her again, this time a shot to the side that took her equilibrium away with a crack. "Stop!" she cried out, twisting around to appeal to Starscream for help. The jet kept his eyes fixed on the wall.

Ironhide pounded on the wall. "Flareup!" he yelled, waving to get her attention. "Fight back!"

"She can't hear you, you know," Barricade said. "Or see you." He tapped the wall. "One way."

"You filthy, slaggin'—" Ironhide lunged at Barricade. Barricade signalled the repair bot, who activated that little surprise the bots had installed in Ironhide's legs. The Autobot's legs locked. He toppled forward heavily into Barricade's arms, too shocked by the sudden lock to take advantage of his momentum. Barricade grunted under the weight.

Blackout hauled Ironhide off Barricade and planted him back in front of the wall window before retreating again to the rear of the room. "Knew you wouldn't behave," Barricade said. "All that Autobot civility is just a pretense; but especially in your case."

Ironhide growled at him. "Dirty trick." His legs were locked into place.

"Well," Barricade smiled, easily, "Had to do something to live up to our reputations as Decepticon scum, didn't we?"

Below them, Dead End snapped one of the cycle bot's delicate fingers. She shrieked, shivering in pain. "I don't understand," she begged, "Please, stop, pleeeeeeeease." The jet's immobility drew Barricade's eye. Under the hard mask of his face, Starscream was seething with rage. But he obeyed his orders. Puzzling.

No time for that now.

"Can't take it, can you?" taunted Dead End, as he scraped his claws down her shoulder. "Think you can dish it out, but you can't take it." He found a loose connection and pinched it, hard. She made a choking sound.

"You can stop this any time you like," Barricade said softly. "You know what I want to know."

Ironhide's face was stricken. His hands curled into impotent fists by his side. Blackout inched forward, reminding the smaller Autobot of his presence. "You filthy, sick, disgusting…." Words failed Ironhide.

Below, Dead End was prying one of Flareup's armor plates off her body, slowly. Giggling while she shrieked. Barricade felt his capacitor flip over. This is necessary. This is necessary.

"Where?" he heard himself ask, his voice thin. "End this, Ironhide. Where is it."

"Shut up."

"She doesn't deserve this."

The Autobot turned his torso, his eyes blazing halogen blue. "Then stop slaggin' doing it to her!"

"I am not doing this to her," Barricade said, forcing mettle into his voice. "Tell me, and it ends. Tell me, and you save your friend."

"What guarantee do I have that isn't just a lie?"

"What choice do you have? If you do not tell me, it is a certainty that Dead End will continue."

Ironhide looked ill, staring down at the red Decepticon. Dead End twitched, below, almost like he could feel Ironhide's hateful stare.

"Is she worth so little to you, Autobot?" Barricade said, gently. The words bitter in his mouth.

"I—I, oh, slag yourself, Decepticon." He pounded on the wall window with both hands. "Flareup!" he yelled, his voice barely carrying his agony. The wall shook under the impact.

Yes. Harder. Push harder. Almost there. You can feel it. Like the ground beginning to crumble under his feet. You can feel him give. Do it. Push. This is not you. This is not who you are. "She is worth more than these humans, isn't she?"

Ironhide choked on a sob. "Don't get me started on those slagging humans!"

Yes. Harder. This is not me. "They are your allies. They are worth more to you than Flareup."

"No they are NOT!" Ironhide pounded the wall again. "Useless. Get in our fraggin' way. All the time. Incompetent. Against their own kind they might be something, but they're useless against you bastards."

"Then why do you go into battle alongside them? Surely your Prime values them?"

Ironhide wailed. "Stop him. Stop it."

Barricade said nothing.

"Dammit!" Ironhide swallowed, hard, his eyes angry. "Stop it. Please."

Barricade shook his head, sadly. "Your Prime has not made any attempt to contact us about either of you. Surely that means he values the alliance with the humans more highly than you."

Ironhide raked his hands over his face, the metal plates scraping against each other. "Slaggin' useless humans. Come along just to keep the illusion that they're still in control. Like their leaders. Prime has to rub them up all the time. Says he doesn't want them to see us as invaders, but allies. Slaggin' interspecies cooperation, he calls it. You know we could glass the whole planet without breaking a coolant seal if we wanted."

"Don't like having to hold back for them, do you?"

"Primus no! Hate the bastards. Prime makes them do our maintenance. Know what that's like, filthy Decepticon? Least you don't have fraggin' xenos touching your valves."

That seemed like enough. Bring him back. Stop delaying. She's getting hurt. "You still have not told me what I want to know."

A loud ringing sound as Dead End tore away another of Flareup's armor plates. He sank his teeth into the exposed cables. Flareup moved, weakly. Starscream kept his gaze hard on the wall window.

"Sick bastard," Ironhide breathed. He slumped forward, his forehead on the wall. "Meteor Crater. In the US."

Barricade shook his head. "Wrong answer." Vortex had explored that and found it unviable. Autobot was holding out till the last. But progress. One. More. Push. Do it. His hand shook over the wall window's controls. He stared at it like it was a foreign object. Do it. Ironhide closed his eyes, wearily. Now. Break him.

He punched the control, and tapped a signal to Dead End. The little bot had been briefed. He'd better not screw up. Just say the damn speech word for word, Barricade thought.

Below them, Dead End paused. He gestured up at the wall window, which was now transparent. Barricade ducked aside. "You see?" Dead End said to Flareup. She lifted her head, weakly. Interior joint fluid spattered her frame, hydraulic fluid dripped from her audio receptors. "Up there. Your Autobot friend. He does not care. He is not coming to save you."

Flareup raised her eyes, and caught sight of a large bot standing immobile in the wall window, staring down impassively. Her optical receptors blurred. She couldn't make out his expression, but she knew the contours. Ironhide. "I—Ironhide?"

Ironhide didn't notice the wall window's change until he heard the echo of Dead End's words. Barricade hit the blanking screen before he could react. "You sick bastard," he breathed at Barricade. Dead End turned back to Flareup, grinning evilly. Ironhide flinched at the first hit of the red bot's renewed assault, covered his face with his hands. "I only know one for sure. Tunguska."

"Energon—you have tested it?"

"We have samples. Yeah."

"The other? There are two."

"Don't know. I'm telling the truth. I don't know." His voice was rough. "Stop it. Please. I don't know the other."

Barricade buzzed Dead End. The red bot didn't respond, sinking his dental plates into the cycle bot's exposed tire. No. Can't lose it now. Don't. You knew this would happen. Part of the reason you chose Dead End. You knew it. You should have seen this coming. Should have known. Not now. I am in control. I have to be. He buzzed Dead End again. Comm died. He swore, buzzed Starscream.

"Stop him," he said, flatly.

The jet spun into action as if the last quarter cycle of immobility had merely been winding up for this. He whipped around, tossing the cycle bot on the floor behind him, out of Dead End's reach, and, continuing the spin, brought both arms down in a long-fulcrumed hammer blow on the red bot's head. With a squeal and the sound of crushing metal, Dead End dropped to the ground.

"Stopped enough for you?" Starscream shrieked. Dead End twitched—involuntary processor reflex—at his feet. The voice squealed feedback in Barricade's ears twice—once from his own comm, once from the audio pickup from the hangar.

Barricade swallowed. "Yeah. Take him to regen."

"I will not! I am done with this business," the jet roared, glaring up at the window wall, his hands flexed into claws. As if he would like nothing more than to tear through the plasmetal plating.

Barricade flinched as if the larger bot had struck him. "It was necessa—"

"Do not feed me such filth. Honor is worth more than…," he gestured around him at the two damaged bots, "than this." He glared for a moment longer, and stalked out of the repair bay. "Clean up your own mess," he hissed.

Barricade blinked, slowly. Couldn't process this. Not right now. Not now. Don't have time. Don't have space in my processor for this.

Blackout spoke, his hand on Ironhide's shoulder. The Autobot slumped down, as if empty. "What do you want me to do with him?"

A sudden fury boiled up in Barricade. "I don't know, dammit!" he heard himself yell, his voice sounding high and shrill. "I am not in control of everything around here. I'm not even in control of—" he cut himself off.

Not even in control of—

Myself.

********

(A/N) Yeah, this isn't technically Army Field Manual. This is a tactic commonly used at SERE training called 'warbaby'. Basically, you take the youngest, smallest, weakest, most innocent looking guy and tie him to a flagpole and slap the hell out of him in front of full view of the others. The idea isn't, actually, to break the warbaby—but it does a tremendous job of pushing the spectators over the edge—why don't you pick on someone your own size? Like to see you try that with me. Why don't you try it with his hands untied, etc. In SERE, we're limited to open handed slaps and other creative things (buckets of icewater, for example). But these are robots and…I took a little artistic license.

Two more chapters. And no, the ugly isn't over.


	21. Chapter 21

(A/N) One chapter left after this. Got a serious question for my readers, because as you can see I'm still fairly new around here. While this story arc ends in the next scene, the larger story continues. (In fact, I'm just about finished writing the sequel oh lucky lucky you). Here's the issue: To follow the events in the sequel, you really have to know what's gone on in this story—as a 'standalone' it would be really hard to follow. So: should I post it as a separate story or should I 'hijack' this one, change the title to reflect the overarching story arc, and post Fallout (sequel's title) as additions to this one? Please let me know what you think is best! I really really need your input! (Oh, and yes, things actually get worse for our 'bots).

XXI.

Barricade carried Flareup to RB Beta himself, awkwardly carrying the stripped-off armor plates under one arm. She had offlined at some point. She didn't regain consciousness until he'd laid her in a repair cradle. She moaned, twitching her hands feebly. Repair bots pounced on her, hooking up auxiliary power lines, running a sensor block. Two scuttled off with the armor plates, and began working on undenting them. The bots clicked worriedly over the attachment points where the armor had been stripped away—the fine cilia of sensor attachments shivered without contact points.

"Barricade," she said, "What happened? What did I do?"

"You did nothing."

"But why did that…?"

"You did nothing wrong," he repeated. Deflection. "I am sorry I could not stop it sooner." Truth. Half-truth.

She reached out for him with her uninjured hand. He flinched from her touch. She wrapped her hand around his. "Don't leave me alone."

He made a noise in his throat that she took as assent.

She looked dully at the repair bots—the sensor block was dulling her reflexes. Her voice sounded…watery. "To think I used to be afraid of these things."

"They will not harm you."

"I know." She rolled her head, her eyes turning toward Barricade again. One eye was dim, the other streaked with optical lens lubricant. "I—I saw Ironhide."

"Yes."

A repair bot scampered down Flareup's arm and up Barricade's, its optics set on Barricade's own injuries. "Override," Barricade said, flatly. "Priority repair cradle," he looked up at the identifying tag, "delta." The bot hesitated, rubbing two of its forelimbs in agitation, before turning back to Flareup.

"You are—you are injured?"

"Unimportant."

"Barricade--?" Her hand clutched his. He patted it awkwardly. "He didn't do anything. He was just watching!" Optical lens lubricant overflowed from ducts. A repair bot tore itself away from the mass clustered along her body, and extended a small suction hose, making soft clicking sounds. Damn repair bot knew better how to comfort the cycle bot than Barricade. "He just stood there and watched it happen."

"I know." I know.


	22. Chapter 22

(A/N): Well, this is it. Last chapter. All twelve of you who have been reading, thank you so much, and I hope you feel that I have not wasted your time. Thank you to all the kind reviewers, as well. As you have probably guessed, this story gets a little personal for me, and I really hesitated to post it because it does whoa, open me up to be judged. Interrogators aren't really well-liked. And I guess I made some sort of self-statement making the protagonist a Decepticon, And giving him my ritual. Wow, you could so psychoanalyze me based on that. Anyway, I'm blathering because I'm very sorry to see this story go. I hope you have enjoyed the read. I do have a sequel, named Fallout, which is…alas, even worse. You'll see some of the set up here.

XXII.

Vortex rolled his head in its socket while drones bustled around him, setting up a carry harness. One of his rotors glinted silvery new. He flexed it cautiously. Barricade walked up to Ironhide, who sat numbly where he had been directed as the drones set the harness around his chassis. More drones pointed weapons at him, but he didn't seem to notice.

The Autobot lifted his head at Barricade's approach. "Where are you taking me?" Ironhide asked, dully.

"Does it matter?"

"No." The Autobot dropped his head back on his knees.

The dronemaster gave a ready signal to Vortex, who shifted into his vehicle mode. His two large rotors swept out and beat against the air. He lifted steadily from the hangar floor. "Altitude," he asked over the rotornoise that echoed in the enclosed space.

"Good enough," the dronemaster called out, tapping Vortex's undercarriage in case the larger bot couldn't hear him over his own rotorwash. The dronemaster reached over his head and hooked the carry harness to Vortex's belly. He gave another slap and turned to Barricade. "Time."

Barricade turned to the hangar's shipside door. He took Flareup by the hand. "Ready to go?" Her repairs had been complete—the repair bots had repainted her armor with coruscating purple-and-fuschia swirls, probably as their own, dumb way of apology. Better than Barricade could manage. She'd even summoned up a smile when she saw the new paint job. Her optics had been reinforced with the same cage-like bars that Decepticons favored. The bots had been unable to repair her one eye, and had replaced it, with more apologetic clicks and beeps, with a red one. Her gaze was lopsided—one red, one blue.

He wondered if she saw differently through a Decepticon optic.

"Why are you taking me home?"

"Failed to protect you," he said, half sincere. Half-aware that this was yet another long and deep approach. Unsure, unaware whether the sincerity overrode the approach. Which was genuine? He couldn't even tell any more. "Least we can do to send you back home." He steeled himself. Easy enough. Put her on Vortex. He'd drop the two at Diego Garcia. Barricade's part in this was almost done. Almost over.

"Home," she said. "Earth, you mean."

"Yes."

She straightened her shoulders. Her body moved without pain—the bots had done their usual excellent job. "I am ready." She rolled forward until she saw Ironhide. Her hand clutched the inner seam of Barricade's arm. "He is here."

"We are returning him as well."

"I don't see why." Her voice was hard and brittle. Then it cracked. "Don't leave me alone with him."

"You will be safe."

"Come with me. Please." Her two-colored eyes blinked up at him through their new cages. "Just until I'm home."

Slag. No. He wanted this over. Wanted this put behind him. Wanted some recharge time. Some peace. Just a half cycle—a quarter—before he had to start repairing the damage he had done. Blackout. Starscream.

Vortex hit his comm, subvoc. "She knows you," he said, calmly. "She doesn't know me."

Getting lessons in decency from Vortex. That's how far he'd fallen. He forced a smile on his face, feeling his cracked cheekplates sting. You can do this. Just a little bit longer. A little bit more. Friendly up. No more ugly. You can do this. Relax. "All right."

They said nothing the trip back, sitting together in Vortex's hold. He braced the cycle bot between his legs—neither of her modes was well suited for a helicopter insertion, how the atmospheric up- and down-drafts buffeted even Vortex's bulk around. Her hands dug into his knees. She looked down. "Sorry."

"No need."

"Here," Vortex said, aloud. "Got visual."

"Response?"

"Nil. They've spotted the harness." Meaning, the harness's contents. Vortex delicately avoided naming the Autobot.

Vortex rolled his side door open, and slewed to one side, so he could get lower to the ground without crushing Ironhide. He cut away the harness. Ironhide got to his feet, slowly, tearing off the harness straps. A crowd rushed toward the landing strip—Autobots running or rolling, NEST teams in their emergency vehicles, weapons aimed.

Vortex hovered a few feet off the ground. "Time to go," Barricade said. "Home."

"It's not my home," she said, bleakly looking out over the landing strip. In the half-light its runway lights blinked like long lines leading to nowhere. She turned her two-colored optics on him. "Do I have to go?"

"It is your decision." Go. Please go. Let me wash my hands of this. Let it be over. Almost over. Hold on. This is not who I am.

She gave him a measuring look, torn, for a long moment. "Yes," she said, finally. "Help me down."

He recoiled from touching her, suddenly, but he forced himself, holding her under the shoulder joints and lowering her from Vortex's fuselage until he felt her tire strike ground. She turned back, quickly, as if half afraid of what she was about to do. "All I know," she said, the words half-torn from her mouth by the roar of Vortex's rotors, "is that the energon here is green. A green stone. I don't know where it's from." Barricade blinked, surprised. She turned and rolled toward the approaching crowd before he could respond. Behind him, he heard a crackle. "Audio on," he heard Vortex say. "Ready."

Ready. This was it. Everything he'd ever…. This is not me. This is not who I am. This is what I've wanted. This is what I've fought for. Respect, recognition. Power. "No," he breathed. Forgotten about this part. Didn't want to see this part. Hear it. Just know that it was done.

Suddenly, audio crackled all around him as Soundwave hijacked the satellite signals. Every cell phone, every walkie-talkie, every audio receptor on Diego Garcia and around the globe crackled on. Audio and video. Ironhide's voice, culled from Barricade's own memory cortex.

"Slaggin' useless humans." Ironhide looked up, his face a mask of horror. His hand froze on the carry harness. Soundwave's transmission continued, "Hate the bastards." Another pause. "We could glass the whole planet without breaking a coolant seal if we wanted." The humans of the NEST team faltered, confused. The approaching Autobots slowed their pace, relief fading on their faces.

Barricade heard his own voice. Had he sounded that calm? He hadn't felt it. "Your Prime. Surely he values the alliance with the humans more highly than you." That is not me. That can't be me. This is not who I am.

"Prime has to rub them up all the time. Says he doesn't want them to see us as invaders, but allies. Slaggin' interspecies cooperation, he calls it." Another pause. Soundwave made sure that each of Ironhide's damning comments had a chance to sink in. "Prime makes them do our maintenance. Know what that's like, Decepticon? Least you don't have fraggin' xenos touching your valves."

Ironhide dropped to his knees, landing hard on his palms. Nothing moved except Vortex's powerful rotors. Barricade stood in the fuselage doorway, bracing one hand against the side.. The transmission began again, on a loop. Vortex lifted off, the rotorwash stirring the straps of the carry harness.

Soundwave damped his audio. "Megatron wishes to congratulate you upon your return. A preliminary reconaissance of the Tunguska area looks highly promising. And he is more than pleased with the results of your psychological operation."

"Yeah," Barricade said.

"I also wish to extend my praise. The audio, as you can hear, is unscrambled. I could not have created more condemnatory things for him to have said."

"Yeah."

"Do you suspect he will try to deny it? I have encoded it so that it is apparent and unspliced."

"No, he won't deny it," Barricade said, tired. He rested his head against his hand. He could still feel the vibration of Soundwave's broadcast through Vortex's fuselage. This is not me. This is not who I am.

All of the Autobots stared up at him, mouths open in horror and hatred. This is not me. Flareup turned back to him, her face unreadable, receding into the distance into two bright colored lights as Vortex grabbed altitude. Blame? Condemnation? Betrayal? Horror?

This _is _me. This _is_ who I am.

He felt sick.


End file.
